Once a month, my local community organizes a potluck. My partner absolutely adores these gatherings, while I find them excruciating.
For those unfamiliar with potlucks, let me break it down: a group of people gathers, each bringing a dish, dessert, or sometimes a health risk. The premise is that the food should be homemade, but the reality is a mixed bag of questionable culinary choices that could leave you running to the bathroom for days. Am I being overly critical? Maybe I’m just a bit of a germaphobe.
The reason my partner relishes these monthly events is the opportunity to socialize, which is another hurdle for me. Many may perceive me as outgoing and charming, but that’s merely a facade I maintain. Attending social events means I must keep up this pretense longer, effectively boosting my anxiety levels. It’s like saying, “Alex, we’re going to the potluck. Put on your friendly mask, even if it makes you sweat.”
We always bring the kids along as well. My three children, ranging from ages 5 to 12, eye the array of homemade dishes as if they were the most unappetizing items imaginable. They refuse everything until they finally reach the dessert table, where they load up on cookies and sugary treats. By this point, I’m too worn out from the socializing and inspecting the food for potential germs to protest, so I let them indulge. Then, we all witness the inevitable sugar crash in a public space, which is delightful.
Is this enough to convey my disdain?
I realize that many people, like my partner, genuinely enjoy potlucks. The general consensus seems to be that they foster community spirit and camaraderie. But let me assure you: that assumption is flawed.
Many individuals dislike potlucks but don’t voice their opinions for fear of being labeled party poopers. The social pressures are absurd. If you don’t bring a dish, you’re seen as a freeloader. If your dish remains untouched, you feel like a culinary failure. And if you opt for store-bought items, you’re branded as lazy or inept in the kitchen. I’m no culinary expert, but I prefer to keep that a mystery. Every time I arrive with a box of cookies or a bag of chips, I feel the judgment, and I’m left replaying that shameful moment in my mind long after.
I’m not alone in this sentiment. Recently, a coworker shared a shocking experience from a work potluck on social media. One of her colleagues brought raw chicken and cooked it in the office without washing his hands. As a result, he contaminated the entire workspace with salmonella. This incident highlighted my fears surrounding potlucks: while some people handle food safely, many do not. The uncertainty about food safety at these gatherings is akin to playing a game of Russian roulette.
Many folks have expressed their aversion to potlucks, and it’s time we stop pretending otherwise.
You might wonder why I still attend these events month after month. The answer is simple: I want to support my partner who genuinely enjoys them. I don’t blame her; it’s just part of our relationship. I show up, keep an eye on the kids while she mingles, all the while wishing for the potluck to end and daydreaming of a world without them. This doesn’t make me a bad person; I consider myself a realist.
In summary, potlucks can often be more trouble than they’re worth.
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