It was a holiday party a couple of years back. Looking around I am the youngest one there, in the crowd of thirty and forty-somethings. Everyone was mingling in the not-so-bored, but they rather be somewhere else way. Sugar cookies and forced laughter assailed me from every front.

I sat it the back, people-watching. An under-appreciated sport nowadays. I wondered if these people even realized how hollow their laughter sounded. If they did, would they care? Everyone was laughing with frowns in their eyes.

At that moment I thought I had some great insight on human nature and emotions, I thought myself above these sad people.

Let the games begin.

A typical secret Santa ensued with a bit of a twist. Each person who entered the secret Santa brought a wrapped gift and was given a number. The gift was then placed on a table, and the rules explained. The way it worked was, the person with the number one, would get to choose any gift off the table and unwrap it. The next number called, number two coincidentally, would then get to choose either the gift that anyone else had picked, or another wrapped gift off the table. Door number three if you will. And so if person number one had their gift taken, they go to the table and get another, and so on down the line. Quite ingenious really.

So, everything is going fine, people seemed amused every time someone "stole" someone else's bottle of Chardonnay. Great. A smaller gift is opened, the first in awhile not bottle-shaped. It is a small hand-crafted Christmas tree ornament. I know this, because in response to the question "What the hell is it", gloriously uttered by the person opening it, this grandmotherly lady in the back speaks up. "It's a Christmas ornament".

Silence.

Then the crowd erupts into laughter. A loud boisterous, obnoxious laughter. A laughter, that I can only recount hearing in junior high, when some poor unlucky victim has been chosen to be humiliated.

The elderly woman sits back silently, unsmiling. The laughter continues. It is sickening. Can't these people see? Look at how broken, and sad she looks.

The laughter subsides and the game continues, with a bit of a twist. Now every time someone goes to pick a gift, the person with the ornament pipes up, "Here take this... Please". More laughter. An on it goes, until at some point, towards the end, I look over at the lady, and I see her laughing at the joke. It is a weak laugh, and there is no feeling in it but there she is. Laughing at herself.

Am I the only person who noticed this? Are we still this cruel even at this age?

Afterward, everybody files out slowly through the cafeteria doors, leaving early for the day. The big winner, a proud man with a case of Budweiser on his shoulder. My indignation boiling, I stalked out of there, leaving these people to their own pitiful lives. I hope they someday realize how empty they are, and are sadder for it. I also hope that next time instead of congratulating myself for realizing how people really feel, I will stand up and say something.

I am not as great as I think.