The Palm

Let me preface by saying---I am not a city person.  I was born and raised in the country.  "Going to town" was a big deal, even though "town" consisted of 5,000 people.  I feel horribly awkward and out of place in the city.  Everyone seems so sophisticated in their suits and shiny shoes and $750 purses.  Well, the last few years I have accompanied my parents (my dad is Mayor) and the City Attorney and his wife on business trips to Washington D.C.  For dinner one night, we went to The Palm.  Super fancy-pants, for me, anyway.  Everyone was dressed up, drinking expensive wine, and somehow managing to NOT dribble food on their expensive suits.  If ever there was a place for me to feel unworthy, it would be The Palm.

I tried my best to fit in and did pretty well, I thought.  I had a glass of wine (hated it) and a Manhattan (hated it). I didn't slop food anywhere and I conducted myself with a great deal of refinement.  After coffee we get up to leave and I proudly stride towards the exit.  For some stupid reason, everyone in our party decided to follow my lead out of the restaurant. 

It's very twisty and turny inside The Palm and I thought I was headed toward the exit.  I walk past this loooong table full of, what I can only assume to be, international diplomats.  Fancy pants people.  I am vaguely aware, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I'm no longer being followed.  But I continue on until I realize there is nowhere else to go.  I had walked right up to a glass wall.  There was no exit.  I had somehow wandered into a private party, being held in a private room.  With no other exit.  I turned around to find about twenty fancy pants international diplomats staring at me.  There was nothing I could do but walk past the table full of suits--again.  I wanted so badly to clap my hands and say in my most authoritative voice "May I have your attention please.  How are we on drinks?  Does anyone need more water?  No?  Thank you!"  Instead I just slunk past them, nodding and smiling to them as I walked by.  "How are you this evening?  The shrimp looks delicious.  I love your top!!!", I say. Of course my parents were standing outside that room laughing their asses off.  Why didn't someone grab the back of my shirt when they saw me going in there???  Maybe it's all their fault. Wasn't my fault. After all, it's incredibly dark inside fancy restaurants. Turn on some damn lights!!!

It was awful.  Not really because I was embarrassed, even though I was really embarrassed.  I think it was because I had just proved to myself that I didn't really belong there.  I couldn't even find the exit in The Palm.   And twenty international diplomats all knew I was out of place.  I'm sure they laughed at me.  They did.  I know it. 

Have you ever thoroughly embarrassed yourself and then had to do a walk of shame past the same people you just embarrassed yourself in front of?  All you can do is smile and nod and hope like hell they were all too drunk to remember.

As embarrassing as that episode was, it paled in comparison to the humiliation I suffered at the hands of the Chicago Subway.  Yikes.