There's a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered, Honey, You Just Haven't Thought Of It Yet
Hugo Schwyzer has an interesting post up about assigned seating at dinner parties, as practiced by his family:
There were some basic ground rules, the most sacred of which was this: couples were never to be seated together. Husbands and wives were usually put at separate tables, or at least at opposite ends of the same table. This was also true for long-time boyfriends and girlfriends; the one exception to the rule was when a member of the family brought a new date to a big gathering. So as not to overwhelm the newcomer, that person was allowed to sit next to his or her lover.
My mother and grandmother explained to me that one of the functions of dinner parties was to get to know people one didn't always get a chance to chat with. "It's not about you being comfortable, dear", my grandmother said when I complained; "It's about interacting with new people and making them feel comfortable." Of course, as in every family, there were a few relatives who were considered especially taxing. So one of us might volunteer to sit next to Cousin Albert and listen cheerfully to his boring stories and endure his halitosis without comment or complaint. In return for this heroism, he or she who sat with the difficult one might be encouraged to relax while others handled the usually considerable cleaning-up. The task of sitting next to the dull and the challenging was always rotated, mind you, and I got my share plenty of times.
So far, the response is divided, with some people wishing the tradition were more common, and others wishing it would just die out. Personally, I think it's one of those traditions like the price-free menus that only sticks around because it serves as an indicator of class; the whole concept reminds me of the absurd wedding planning in Murder, With Peacocks. It just doesn't seem like it would work unless (a) everyone already knows each other to an appreciable degree, or (b) everyone is very extroverted (or pressured to act that way) and comfortable interacting with people they don't know well.
The rationale is that it breaks apart cliques, and lets people interact with those they otherwise wouldn't. I think this is overrated (it just creates smaller, more temporary cliques), and is a non-geek form of one of the geek social fallacies - that friendship is transitive. While the host may desire for everyone at their party to get along, forcing the issue at the expense of some of his or her guests' comfort just doesn't work.
The quote that "it's about making them feel comfortable" is a prime example of extrovert privilege. Were it really about the guests' comfort, why not seat Cousin Albert's guest next to him so he has someone to talk to who isn't being forced to? (We introverts aren't clueless, we can usually tell the difference between someone who's forcing conversation and someone who's actually interested.) Rather, I think this practice is more about, as Hugo says, "an important nicety that encourages people to step out of their "safety zones" and expand their horizons."
This is where the privilege comes in. First, there's the assumption that it's a host's prerogative to "encourage" this. Second, there's a lack of understanding about what sort of "safety zone" an introvert has. One of the commenters, "justaguy," writes: "That said, I suspect that morbidly shy persons wouldn't go to one of
our social functions anyway, so that point is probably moot." (Is "morbidly shy" like "morbidly obese"? Is it meant to separate out those with acute social phobia in order to tell the rest of us to "just get over it"?) Well, with practices that alienate us in the name of our "comfort," small wonder. If I knew I'd have to abandon anyone who came with me in order to conform to the host's idea of proper socializing, I'd probably stay home too.
