Every now and then, I’ll go out and do things with other people, whether it be for a work function or just hanging out with friends or colleagues in general.  Certainly this partaking in social rituals is a normal part of being a member of society and the human race, although, introvert that I am, I often do so begrudgingly and with a sense of discomfort and dread.

I went out for dinner on Friday evening with some folks from work, though I was actually looking forward to this particular outing.  It had been a high stress week on the job, so the thought of some good food and a cocktail out with some company struck me as appealing.

The catch to this, I realize in retrospect, is that I am not the kind of person who can go out with just anybody solely for the sake of going out with somebody.  Granted, this is not a brand new epiphany that has only occurred to me in the last couple days — when it comes to dating, for example, I won’t just go out with anyone who happens to be available.  There has to be some level of interest already established, and my date certainly won’t be reaching any metaphorical bases until I deem an appropriate level of worthiness.  In non-dating scenarios, ironically, it becomes a bit more complicated.  Agreeing to go out for a casual not-date drink with a colleague or acquaintance does not generally come with the implication that someone might be looking for more.  It’s just about “hanging out” or “blowing off steam” or whatever-you-want-to-call-it.

The reason I find this more difficult is because it makes it harder to say no.  Saying no to a proposed date is socially acceptable.  If you don’t meet my standards, then I won’t date you, period.  Most people respect that equation.  Simply hanging out, however, comes with a more lax set of expectations.  It is a societal norm to hang out with folks even when we aren’t all that close to them.  We meet old acquaintances for lunch or we go out with co-workers during happy hour, even though we may not even like them.  If you say no to these invitations, you are dubbed “antisocial” or “unfriendly” or, most confusing of all, “stuck up.”

All that said, I agreed to this outing on Friday evening primarily due to the appeal of potentially letting go of the tensions brought about by the workweek.  I should have known better than to go out with a couple of co-workers in the attempt to accomplish this.  I wish I could say there was a high point to the conversation that commenced, but there really wasn’t.  I’ll own up to the fact that I didn’t do much to help matters: I made no effort to try to redirect the conversation, merely eating my food and sipping on my whiskey and Coke in relative silence.  As a quiet individual, I find that trying to steer a conversation being dominated by two or more other, louder people often feels like more effort than it’s worth.

Fortunately for me, we had decided on meeting at a local sports bar, which meant that Game Two of the NLDS was playing soundlessly on all the televisions in the establishment.  So while the conversation devolved from the exasperations of online dating to an all-out gossip/bitchfest about work (that topic I was hoping so much to avoid), I frequently glanced over to see how the Rockies and the Brewers were doing.  I confess that I had largely stopped watching the Royals as their 58-104 season dragged on — even as things started to pick up for them in September, I couldn’t bring myself to watch.  But no matter how distant my relationship with the game might seem at times, baseball always holds a greater appeal for me than listening to negativity from other humans.

I have family members living in Wisconsin.  Combine that with the opportunity to watch former Royals Lorenzo Cain and Mike Moustakas, I defaulted to rooting for the Milwaukee Brewers.  I was pleased to see that they were up 1-0, and the score remained that way until our dinner outing (thankfully) ended.  It made me smile a little to see that they did go on to win the game, and it was good to see both Cain and Moustakas at the plate again.  I miss having them in Kansas City, but I can’t help but be happy for them and their opportunity to play some more October baseball.  I hope the Brewers continue to do well.

All this, I guess, is just a long way of me saying that I like baseball infinitely better than I like most people, even though baseball obviously wouldn’t exist without people.  I meant to write a lot more about baseball itself here, which clearly did not happen, but at least I can still say that the “moral” of this post is that baseball continues to provide a nice escape whenever our lives throw us into these somewhat uncomfortable situations, no matter how distant we might feel from the game.