I was walking following four gentlemen. One man wore a tan-colored suit while another wore a blue checkered shirt tucked into his khaki pants. These men were dressed nicely, but there was one detail that stood out. Around their necks were plastic leis and on their heads were cheap tiaras.
They ended up at the same location as me: 122 East Main St., the Ohio Art League. On Saturday night, the League had a silent auction titled “One Night: Absolutely Absurd.”
Attendees were invited to support the arts while wearing a combination of odd clothing.
At 8 p.m. the doors opened, and I stepped in.
There was art on the walls for the attendees to look at. There was also a piece of paper by each artwork for people to write down their bids. But I was interested in a different form of art.
A woman passed by my left, swaying in a blue sequined belly-dancer dress. On my right was an older gentleman twirling a black Renaissance-inspired cape. In the far corner of the room I just entered was a gaggle of women wearing Venetian masks, squawking as they laughed together.
I was a bit nervous. For being someone who wouldn’t deserve a second glance on the street, I was the odd man out now.
The techno music filled every room and people were either mingling around the artwork on the walls or socially drinking at the bar. Balloons filled the negative space, floating toward the ceiling or rolling on the floor.
The first floor was a nice introduction to the exhibit, but there was more to see.
Second floor.
“I feel I outplayed the absurdity a bit,” a man said.
His name is Clyde Synger. He was wearing a green leotard, a black top hat, and had tinsel draped all over himself. He was talking to a man with a crude Superman outfit who was serving ice cream at the end of the dining area.
“No one is more absurd than me,” Synger said as he left the dining area.
By the stairs on the second floor was a couple wearing a uniformed costume. Adam Brouillett and Emily Herbeck were wrapped and constrained by a black-and-white fur rug.
“I had to call her boyfriend and ask if it was OK,” Brouillett said when talking about Herbeck and their costume.
We talked for a bit before they moved on toward the stairs. I asked them if they would be able to handle their trip.
“We’ve always been really coordinated,” Brouillett said. “Ever since we were born in this costume.”
I moved on and kept observing until I was stopped. I had been there an hour before it finally happened. I was stopped by Cheryl Henderson, an enthusiastic cross between a ballerina and ninja.
“Here’s a young guy, at a place celebrating art and life, and he’s being a stick in the mud,” Henderson said. She referred to me being one of the few not dressed up for the night. She then took my hand and led me to the stairs.
Henderson quickly led me toward a stage where a karaoke event was being set up. Beside the stage was a coat rack full of costumes and a tub full of accessories.
“You thought you were going to get away with it didn’t you?” Henderson said.
I had never met this woman before, but I knew what she had planned. She went straight for the tub, throwing cowboy hats aside, considering a robot mask before discarding it, and then finally found the one item for me.
“There you go,” she said as she secured a fake beard on my face, which was odd because I already had a beard, my real beard. “Now you have a double beard.”
Henderson left after that. Perhaps unaware of the true gift she gave me. It wasn’t the cheap Halloween beard straddling my own beard and making my face hot and itchy. It was a relief from the nervousness.
