My 10-year class reunion was Saturday. Wanting to make sure we didn’t end up without one, I volutneered this spring to plan it. Luckily, someone else soon volunteered as well. We took it on as a team, and luckily she did most of the work.

We had about 30 people plus guests, out of a class of 92. It was a ton of fun, but nothing much blogworth happened … except for the Joker.

About an hour into the reunion, a guy enters the room in a Joker outfit, with green hair, white face, slash of a mouth and everything. He tries to convince Jamie (the aforementioned woman who saved me from having to plan the reunion myself) that he is one of our classmates. I didn’t catch it all but it was something like this:

Joker: Am I on your list?
Jamie: I don’t know. What’s your name?
Joker: What do you think it is?
Jamie: I don’t know. I don’t think I know you.
Joker: This is a class reunion, right? I’m here for the reunion.

Somehow Jamie managed to get out of his grasp. Everyone else has also slowly moved away, while sneaking glances or taking not-so-sneaky pictures. My husband, bless him, is the only one brave enough to take him on.

After a good long while (how’s that for specific), he gets the guy to break character and admit that he’s a 1982 graduate of Austin High School and he lives near the Guthrie. At that point, Mark tells him, “I’m sorry but this is a private party and I am going to have to ask you to leave now.” He had to say it three times, but the guy finally left the room, and eventually left the bar.

He was drunk, but not too drunk to think ahead. He made sure the bouncer would let him back in if the bar down the street didn’t let him in. Geez buddy, why so serious?