Dropping In’s David Jasper, seated, opens a birthday present surrounded by friends and his sisters sometime in the 1970s.

These people we see in movies and TV shows who get mad when someone throws them a surprise party: Who are they? I don’t think we can trust them. I think these shows and films must be written by AI, because that has to be one of the dumbest, most unfounded tropes out there.

Of course, my experience with surprise parties is pretty limited. I like to think I’d love one.

My birthday was last week, and it got me thinking how one of my recurring fantasies — don’t worry, this is fit for general consumption — is having someone throw me a surprise party. I’ve never had one. I’m just not the type, you know? I’m not exactly introverted, but I also don’t have the personality that makes people say, “Gee, I bet Dave, who is an avowed and fairly obvious attention seeker, would love to have a surprise birthday party!”

I’m kind of one of those people whose main friends think other people are my main friends, but I don’t really hang out with anyone but the first group of friends. Or maybe this is just how midlife is when it comes to friends. Wait. Maybe I’m not one of their main friends.

At any rate, I did have a couple of big, fun, memorable parties when I turned 29 and 30. I was aware they were happening, so I was not surprised or startled — at least not by the parties, other than the fact this one woman I worked with got staggeringly drunk off of one or two beers, suggesting to us that she was on perhaps a medication with which she should not imbibe alcohol. We agreed she shouldn’t drive, and she spent the night in our guest room, then didn’t close the front door all the way at whatever time she left in the morning. I just discovered it standing open the next morning. That was surprising.

Let me add that my desire for a surprise party is most definitely balanced by the fact that I would never ever under any circumstances want to have the responsibility of organizing a surprise party for someone. Can you imagine? I’m not great at any of the key ingredients of organizing surprise parties, such as planning, sending invitations or keeping secrets. My wife insists everyone is bad about keeping secrets, and I’m just honest about the fact that I am bad at it. I’ve felt judged by friends who want to tell me a secret but say they can’t because they know I can’t keep one. How they don’t feel at least a tiny bit hypocritical in that moment is a mystery, but otherwise, their logic is quite sound.

But a surprise party thrown FOR me? That sounds fun. Rather than get upset and tell the organizer, “You know how I hate surprise parties!” I would probably well up when I saw everyone pop out because I cry quite easily when facing the right sentiment. Some guys get mad and tear things up when startled, and other guys just tear up.

Once for an article spoofing “Survivor,” I was getting ready to set out in a canoe and paddle to an island in the Gulf of Mexico with my friend Alan. As I was unspooling questions and articulating doomsday scenarios, he said, right in front of my wife, “Butch up, Dave.”

Is that why some people get mad when faced with a surprise party in their honor? Because they’re so butch?

Column: We did it, fellas! Oregon is the mansplaining capital of U.S.

Well, instead of butching up, I’d wipe the tears and thank the people who were there and proceed to have fun. I’ve only even attended one surprise party in my life, so maybe they’re not much of a thing. It was a gathering in Shevlin Park for my wife when she was turning 31 or 32, organized by an old friend of hers, so I was just an attendee. I somehow managed to keep it a secret. And it went terrifically. So take that, possibly not-main friends who won’t trust me with secrets.

I also kept a secret long enough at a 2000 New Year’s Eve party this guy Dave and his then-wife Julie hosted. Dave had the brilliant idea to seize on Y2K panic and surprise his wife by turning off all the power to his house just after the ball dropped. It was brilliant. We counted down the requisite 10 to 1, and a beat after we all said “Happy New Year!” he killed all power to his house.

Hilarity ensued. Julie bought it hook line and sinker, and everyone laughed. Because surprises are rad. And by surprises, I mean well-curated ones, like turning off the power at the moment when everyone thought America’s infrastructure was going to fail.

Surprise parties fall in that well-curated category, no? I don’t know about you, buts some days it’s like I’m being driven slowly mad by my routines and lack of imagination.

I can’t imagine getting irked about someone having the creativity, wherewithal, fortitude and secret-keeping prowess to pull off a surprise party for the likes of me.

Or maybe it would be disappointing. Maybe the writers of shows like ”Bojack Horseman” and movies such as ”Horrible Bosses” know something I don’t. I mean, they must know surprise parties can be awful, probably by having attended a bad one or having had a horrible one thrown for them.

Still, if you’ve experienced one or two going poorly, isn’t that a really teensy data set on which to base your low opinion of surprise parties? Just because you didn’t like it, doesn’t mean you should cast aspersions on them in your creative output.

Because, ooh, were you traumatized at a surprise party? What happened? Did everyone shout “Surprise!” too enthusiastically for you? Did you get too many presents? Did you witness a good time had by all? Poor you, all those people centered on you and your birthday.

In conclusion, I demand a surprise party one of these days, before I get too old and have a heart attack due to the surprise. That would be way worse than crying at the sight of friends and loved ones shouting “Surprise!”

Just please don’t yell “Surprise!” too loudly. I have yet to butch up, and I jump-scare worse than anyone you’ve ever sat near in a theater.