A corporate event… Small talk… For an introvert like me, it’s torture. But…

I attended a gathering of investment bankers and various other adjacent experts this evening in Orange County, California. I do most of my work and consulting from home so I can’t complain too much about socializing with others, which I find suffocating as an introvert.

But, God, today’s event was the typical expected misery. Approaching strangers as if you give a fuck, the obligatory exchange of introductions, the quest for mutual interests, and the forced smiles at unfunny jokes — it’s just not my thing.

There’s a paradox — I’m actually good at small talk. I’m probably better than most people in the room, forgive me my arrogance. I’m well-traveled, and I’ve been through a lot of colorful personal and professional experiences; I’m curious by my nature. Politics, family, sports, business, travel — I can pick up any discussion and engage in it at a fairly deep level. And yet, it drains me — being surrounded by people and having to communicate with them.

Wary of sounding too self-pleased with my alcohol abstinence, I should also mention that I find people with wine glasses especially repelling. Their unfunny jokes are even more frequent, and their faces appear extra flushed. Sometimes, they emanate the smell of alcohol. They may not be drunk, but the scent of ethanol is unmistakable.

In addition to the schmoozing with drinks and food, there was a panel featuring several speakers moderated by one of the event…