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Special Table – The DUFF perspective

I came across this interesting term just a while back. We will disregard the thought that this term has been around for ages and I am a grandmother who does not keep a tab on the latest lingo. So the term that I am talking about is DUFF, which stands for ‘Designated Ugly Fat Friend’. Right off the bat, lets address the elephant in the room (that elephant may or may not be me). Am I ugly? I will leave that to the eyes of the beholder. But yes, with the right filters and a crooked eye, my Instagram profile and I think I am stunning! Am I fat? Well, like I said I may or may not be the elephant in the room. But I am definitely the DESIGNATED FRIEND - Designated driver, designated mother, designated ‘she’s like that friend’.

Coming back to the topic at hand, I was at a party the other night. I was there with a friend who mind you DOES not treat me as designated anything. As luck would have it, we were attending a party and the person throwing the said bash had a private table/cabana space, as he always does. I have never been really comfortable with these tables and to be honest not very comfortable with the club/pub culture. Again, it isn’t because I am an awkward grandmother who is more tensed about which drunk friend will fall or tumble over what. This time around though it had been a while since I found myself in this environment and I decided I will not be a grandmother.

As we were approaching the private space I realised that it was a step up, a level above the actual floor of the club. They had clearly and not at all subtly put it across that the people with this table were special and better than the rest. We approached the table, exchanged pleasantries which thanks to the music was very difficult (I told you I am a grandmother), and grabbed a spot at one of the corners. This is when it started getting weird. Everyone at this special table was not sitting or standing around the table interacting with each other but all of them were facing the crowd. It was almost unnerving to see how comfortable these special people were with their backs to each other.

The better the music the more people found themselves at the end of the “table”, careful not to step down but standing right there. No one was dancing with each other, but they were dancing at the people who were not privileged enough to have a special space. Me being the awkward camel that I am, decided to face my back to the crowd and step down from the special table. That was a big NO! The specials panicked that one of them (temporarily) was stepping down and was going to be infected by the peasant air.

Understanding this perspective among the cacophony of sounds and hoots and illegible music made me stumble upon my knowledge of this word. DUFF. I honestly felt like the DUFF that night and not because of the un-abbreviated meaning of the word but the fact that if I would actually haul my ass to a party I would want to interact with the people at the party and dance with them. I wanted to be one among the peasants because somehow, they were not alone even if they came to the party alone. Everyone was dancing with the other, everyone was together in a myriad of colours and the foot tapping beats.

The only thing special about the special table was that everyone could see them, but honestly, did they even look at each other?

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