It’s an absolutely terrifying spectacle.

Before it all begins, you’re hoping something happens. A meteor hits the planet. A fire breaks out. An unforgiving Tsunami hits the shores.

Something.

Anything.

But it never does. Thankfully for everyone else. A little less thankfully for you.

It’s not like you’re doing this for the first time. You’ve been here before. Maybe not as often as the others. Maybe not even as well as the others. But this isn’t new.

You’ve spent days dreading this moment. The most incredible part is that you volunteered for it. No one asked you to do it. You could have done better, easier things. Like lion taming perhaps? Or mediate the Israel-Palestine conflict? But you chose this, shouldering every ounce of blame for this grand catastrophe.

You’ve worked out the whole thing at home. But there’s no fluidity. It’s robotic and bland. No spice. No x-factor. Heck, not even a A, B or C factor. It’s about as inspiring as a sack of boiled potatoes. You even went through everything in your car, as you sat there, hoping time would stop or move at snail speed so you could delay the inevitable.   

But then you’re there. Any second now. Your brow is sweaty and your mouth dry. You have trouble swallowing. Breathing? Yes, that’s still there, somehow. But it’s heavy. It’s laborious. You suddenly have the onset of a stutter. This wasn’t there a few minutes ago, was it?

You look around, and oddly enough, everyone else is happy. Like most normal people. They’re talking. They’re laughing. Waltzing carefree in the perfume of Beer, cocktails and perhaps some fries and salads. You’re almost envious of these people.

And then the final shape of your impending hell begins to take place.

You hear applause, and notice, from the corner of your eye, one silhouette walking off stage and another one replacing it. Some sentences follow, and then you hear your name called out. Or as it usually happens, a marginally twisted pronunciation of your name.

With your knees weak and your heart crashing against your chest wall, you stumble on stage, accepting a fist bump from the MC walking off.

And then you stand there for what seems like a lifetime to you but only half a second to everyone else, dipping yourself in the pot of self-inflicted humiliation. Your words finally escape the lips, and the first semblance of laughter hits your ears…

Yes, you want to go through this ordeal again.