As I mentioned in my last blog post, the Joplin High School Class of 1966 had its 45th year reunion this past weekend. This was my first time to attend and I was pleasantly surprised to see the parking lot full of cars instead of a fleet of OATS buses as I had imagined. OATS used to stand for Old Adults Transportation Services, but I think it has recently been opened up to anyone in need of the service.
Upon arrival, we were each given a name tag that included a picture of ourselves from the yearbook so everyone wouldn't keep asking "who the hell are you?" all night.
After a quick trip to the portable bar and a few handshakes, we were ushered out front for a group picture. As the camera snapped away, we were all looking pretty good, in a geriatric sort of way.
It was nice to see old friends again. I immediately recognized some of them, but others I wouldn't have guessed who they were in a million years.
Most people seemed shocked that I had become a novelist, instead of just getting out on parole. I refrained from touting my latest book too much, and after several trips to the bar, Anheuser's disease (not Alzheimer's) started to set in, so I probably forgot the name of it anyway.
A buffet dinner was served followed by a tribute to our classmates who has passed on. Then a vote was taken in favor of having a 50th class reunion, as each one of us optimistically assumed we would still inhabit the planet in 2016.
The DJ finally kicked off the celebration with some music and the party-goers flooded the dance floor. Through the sea of shuffling feet and gyrating hips, I looked down to see if I could spot any fallen dentures or hairpieces, but everything was cool.
It ended up being a fun-filled evening. No one got too inebriated although my pal Bob and I were pushing the envelope. My hat goes off to the reunion committee for all their time and effort that resulted in a successful evening.
After we had all the fun we could stand, we departed around 10:15 p.m. Bob and his wife loaded up in the car with us, and my wife was the designated driver for the evening.
It was nice to meet old classmates again and see how we had turned into mellowed senior citizens, and had departed from the rowdy teenagers that we once were. However, as I left the party I did find a bra on the parking lot. It was pink and size 36 long, if anyone cares to claim it.
* Disclaimer - This blog post has been embellished for the sole purpose of entertainment. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.