While my 16th birthday party ended up well (eventually), two other surprise parties in my life (which I have thrown, not been given) have not been a success at all. In college, I threw my boyfriend a surprise party, maneuvering the tricky timing part of the surprise by taking him to a movie just beforehand. The timing was beautiful; while we were at the movie, his friends broke into his apartment to set everything up, and all the guests brought the food. They had plenty of time, too, since my diversionary movie tactic allowed it. I’m a genius. Kind of. Unfortunately, I found out only later that one of his guests was not a friend at all (they had had a falling out). His former friend felt compelled to go to the party because their many other, mutual friends attended and he wanted to save face for both of them. Oops. Sorry to both of you, honestly.
This brings us to the second failed party, which was even worse. My husband (it was his surprise party) was on a business trip and he would be out of town until the day of. Over the years, I’ve found the timing for coordination of surprise parties is critical–and tricky. His absence would allow beautiful set up and perfect guest arrival time…but for the fact that everyone else lived many, many miles from Oakland (where we lived then). I scheduled a late afternoon party to give everyone time to make the trip. Guests came from Sacramento, and my parents even came down from “the mountains.” (I did not invite Bob, of course. He was still a slob. There must be no sub-par guests at this party!). It was going to be perfect. I particularly appreciated my parents, braving the five-hour drive, valiantly facing the exit from their rural community (there no longer is a video store) and the urban overwhelm they commonly experience in the Bay Area. (Who doesn’t?!). They had a long drive but they would stay with us in the guest room the night of the party. Fantastic. My husband’s return flight from his business trip would be well-timed, giving a nice window for our 5-hour-drive guests to arrive while I went to pick him up at the airport. Beautiful. I gave my brother the spare key so he could let everyone in, set up balloons and such. So far, so good. There was a movie playing in the perfect zone of timing for Spouse’s arrival to allow all the guests to arrive. When I picked him up, I would suggest (strongly) that we would go the movie.
When we arrived at his party in his very own apartment, my birthday boyfriend appreciated neither the surprise party itself, nor the surprise of his former friend’s attendance. Oops. An undercurrent of his seething anger ruined the party for me; I’m not sure if it did for the other guests, too. There wasn’t even any onion dip. My boyfriend is now my ex-boyfriend, thanks to my meeting and falling in love with my next boyfriend, who is now my husband. (It is safe to say, though, that the lousy surprise party was not a contributing factor in the break up.)
Sadly, in a strange twist of fate, his flight the night before the party was canceled. Well, part of his flight. He was already going to have a planned layover (which was why the timing was going to be amazing). However, when he’d landed from wherever to wherever, the airport had actually closed, due to weather or something; I don’t know. I cannot remember the details, but basically they had to cancel second leg of the flight, and the airport (Timbuktu Airport, I’m guessing), had been closed. Not just a canceled flight, but a closed airport. The passengers were not even allowed to leave the airport! I have never heard of anything like it before or since. Maybe it was a bomb scare on the plane, I dunno, but for whatever reason, (they didn’t tell them, so it probably was a bomb scare), Spouse and all of the other poor saps had to stay at the airport, and sleep at the airport, while waiting for their rescheduled flights. Given the choice of tiny airport chairs or a cozy airport floor, he slept on the floor. Yikes.
Upon his arrival back in Oakland, my perfectly timed movie now seemed so much less like a good idea than a horrible punishment for my Spouse who was exhausted and needed nothing more than to go home and get some sleep. Sleep that is likely much more comfortable on a bed than a floor. But the movie! The timing! It was critical that we not go back home yet, critical. In retrospect, why we didn’t just go home, let the party happen without him so he could have taken a nap for a while, I cannot tell you. (Control freak, much?). Regardless, I was somehow able to talk my beautiful husband into going to the perfectly timed movie. It was probably a Keanu Reeves’ movie, because then there would have been very little resistance, even under his poor, sleepless circumstances. Spouse is convinced that Keanu is the best actor there is. “He can play anything, all genres. Romantic. Action. Drama.” He touts Keanu’s acting techniques without embarrassment or hesitation, singing his praises as if he is the best actor since any actual good actor. I am amused by (and tolerate) his obsession, because I like Keanu just fine–so I just have fun with it and go along. Besides, in this case it probably let me keep the surprise party thing going. To the movies we went.
After the movie, my relieved Spouse (he was relieved; I wasn’t) and I headed home. I was filled with dread and anxiety about what was going to happen next. Suddenly I was smacked with PTSD from the failed party for my ex years before, and with good reason. The entry “SURPRISE!” was met with a sort of numb shock by my husband. He was so dead on his feet that he could barely muster any kind “happy” or feigned enthusiasm. The orchestration had been, until that day, perfect. Spouse tried to be a gracious sport, but his party was tainted by his exhaustion, the telling (and re-telling) of his sleepless night on the airport floor as well as the guests’ sadness and pity on his behalf. At least we had the delicious sour-cream-and-onion dip.