MFA Reading 1/28/11 aka Night of Many Drinks

The story of this night begins with my English 15 class, taught by Ms Denise Grollmus. You see, for extra credit Denise had informed our class we could attend any one of a series of MFA readings over the course of semester, and write a 500-word summary of the event. This seemed relatively easy to me, so I opted to attend the first of the readings, which was to take place at the university club and begin at 7:30 pm on Friday, January 28^th, 2011.

I happen to have class on Fridays until 5:30 pm, and usually go out to dinner with some friends immediately following class. This particular Friday, we chose the West Halls dining commons for dinner, known for its exceptional quality in food preparation. This night the main entrée was crab cakes, and let me tell you, they were good. We departed the dining commons at approximately 6:15 pm, and I split off from my friends to head over to the university club. I knew I would have extra time between dinner and the reading, so I had brought my laptop with me and planned to edit and revise a narrative I had due on Monday in the downtime. I had never been to the university club, but I figured it was just another classroom building, and I would be able to find a chair or desk to sit and work at.

            Boy was I wrong. My first impression of the building was the stone walkway spilling from a large wooden front door, flanked on either side by three deep fluted columns with ionic capitals well above 20 feet in the air. This impressive entrance was made even more grand by the landscape, which sloped upwards to the structure. As I pushed aside the door, I was surprised to find a familiar floor plan stretching away from me. The floors were all wooden, and there weren’t any doors, but rather openings in the walls. This was definitely not your typical classroom building. To the right of the front door was what could only be described as a sitting room, with a multitude of couches and low-seated armchairs scattered throughout on top of several rugs, interrupted by the occasional coffee table. The room was probably close to 600 square feet. Behind it was another room arranged in the same fashion, but only 400 square feet. Both rooms where dark and deserted, and I felt relieved for some privacy in a situation that was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable.

Through the next hour, no one came in the room or talked to me. People slowly filed through the front door, but not enough to create a large crowd. They all seemed familiar with where to go, and didn’t give me a second glance. At approximately 7:25, I packed up my belongings and set off to find the location of the people. After taking out my iPod, I could hear a repetitive slight thump from a base speaker, and found a set of stairs leading to a basement where the music was coming from. These stairs emptied into a space just large enough for a pool table, which is just where one was located. To the left I saw rows of stackable chairs all facing a podium and projector screen, which was obviously where the reading was to take place. No one was sitting in the chairs, but several jackets had been flung over a few chairs in a very possessive manner. But the feature that got my attention the most was the red carpet. You see, it not only covered the floor but also the walls. There had been wooden frames constructed over top of the cement walls, and the carpet had been nailed to this, with holes cut into it for recessed lighting. The other unusual feature was the benches that where cantilevered from the walls, also covered in red carpet. However unsightly or dirty the benches where, they looked more roomy and less awkward than the chairs, which were pushed together to the point of being uncomfortable. Thus, I took a seat near the back on a bench, and buried my nose in my laptop once more.

After a few minutes, there was a call to order, including a mention of “road beer.” As people began to shuffle into the cramped rows of seats, I caught a few glimpses of what they had been crowded around: A mini bar. After all, it was a Friday night, was it not? I wondered to myself if there was anyone else in the basement that was underage. As it turns out, there wasn’t. I imagine I could’ve gotten a drink if I wanted, but at the time I was genuinely thirsty, and only interested in water.

The program started right away with a short introduction of the first of four writers to be reading their work that evening. Though brief, the introduction managed to include a slew of sexual innuendos and naughty implications. This was obviously a group of people who knew each other well enough to laugh at such jokes. However, the effect on me was to make my desire to leave even more urgent. All introductions were given in the same manner, and just further heightened the awkwardness of the evening for me. It didn’t help that I was about eight years younger than the average age of the room, and the only one with a laptop taking notes. I was also distressed to notice Nicolette, who teaches English 15 to a number of my friends, sitting directly across from me.

Despite my sense of not belonging, I did appreciate a majority of the work read by the four writers. The first read a very elegantly worded and length fictional narrative set in the style of letters to the owner of a house from the neighborhood to which they belonged. The second and third read poems, but they were very different readers. The second had a very lively personality and voice, until she started to read her work. Then, for some reason unbeknownst to me, she became very monotone, and dragged her ‘s’ on for just slightly too long, which was just enough to distract me from trying to listen to her writing. I don’t know what she was trying to write about, but I imagine it was good. The third reader was by far my favorite. She read a series of sonnets, which covered a variety of topics. The thing I liked most about her was her style of writing. It was very broken, offering the observer only glimpses of scenes and emotions, leaving them to fill in the rest with their imagination. I liked this because it spoke to something different in everyone, provoking a different interpretation from everyone. It revealed not only something about the author but something about yourself. Very cool stuff. My expectations were high for the fourth reader, which is perhaps why her work was such a letdown. She chose to read a piece comparing panda mating patterns to those of humans, including personal experiences. Not exactly something I felt particularly drawn to.

Thankfully the whole event wrapped up at 9:00 pm on the nose. I was the first person to walk out of that basement. Yet despite how uncomfortable I was the whole time, I can see myself returning on February 18^th. Partially for the purpose of hearing good works of writing, partially for extra credit, and partially for the humor of being the only undergrad student at an event geared toward a very exclusive audience without enough of a backbone to kick me out.