It was a pleasant dinner party, hosted by the president of the company that employed my wife. He had an elegant home in a plush Chicago suburb. But the backyard was not very spacious, so the 50 to 60 guests mingled elbow-to-elbow on a sultry July evening while enjoying outdoor cocktails. This led to more interaction than you normally find at this kind of business-social event. Instead of spending all their time chatting with the spouse and one or two closest co-workers, people found themselves packed so tightly they would have been embarrassed not to make conversation with folks they were close enough to kiss.
At one point, about 10 of us were crowded in a somewhat circular array when the chit-chat turned to a subject everyone in this affluent crowd could identify with—remodeling projects. One after another told a contractor horror story.