Playing Dress Up

The other night's event did not go as I had expected. Not that I didn't enjoy the evening, it just wasn't quite what I had in mind. First off, it was pouring down rain when it was time to head out -- our cars were scheduled for 6:15, I didn't get into one until 7:00. There were 9 of us going in 3 cars, and I was in the last car to leave. The ride up was . . . interesting as I shared it with the quietest man in the world ("QM"). I gave up on small talk after approximately 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes of complete silence followed. When we pulled up to the Met, the grand staircase that leads to the main the entrance was completely covered in scaffolding. It was more claustrophobic than grand.

I sprinted up the stairs holding my dress (I opted for the long velvet number -- Mamacita, if only I had read your comment earlier, I would have gone with the blazer and skirt!) so as not to drag it along the wet marble. They were in the middle of the cocktail hour when we walked in. Instead of harried tourists and old ladies ambling about the entrance hall, there were about 500 people dressed in black-tie and evening gowns sipping cocktails. I liked that they turned the information booth into a bar that was lined with rows and rows of wine glasses. The ledge that usually props up maps and pamphlets made an excellent catch basin for spilled drinks. We were supposed to be able to get a private tour of the Van Gogh special exhibit, but we got there too late (thanks, Odyssey car-service) and I was forced to make small talk with a bunch of seemingly important people instead.

It was an interesting mix of real estate types -- developers, architects, politicians, and some lawyers. I got to meet Senator Alfonse D'Amato (although I really had no idea who he was, I thought he was just some bald guy that smiled alot) and Gifford Miller (not sure what he's going to do now after his failed mayoral bid), David Childs (an architect at Skidmore, Owings & Merril who is working on the re-design of the Freedom Tower), and a bunch of other people whose names escape me. I got a bit toasted on a few glasses of red wine -- yummy stuff, this was no 2 Buck Chuck. The dinner itself was in the Sackler Wing, in the the room that houses the Temple of Dendur. For those of you that are not familiar with that room, it contains portions of an ancient Egyptian temple that was given to the US by Egypt back in the 1960's when they were constructing the Aswan High Dam (the temple was in the way). The temple sits on a raised platform that is surrounded by water. The museum had surrounded the "moat" with hundreds of votives and the candle light reflected off the water and helped light the room. Absolutely beautiful. I wonder if when they were designing this space they planned for it to be a possible party area. The food was good, the wine even better. I guess for $3,000 a plate, they had to keep us well fed/inebriated. I think the bottomless glasses of wine had a lot to do with what followed.

We were at Table 40, near the head table. I had assumed that I would sit with members of my old group (we defected as a group from our old firm), but it was actually formal seating and I was seated between QM and the partner that heads up the other half of our super-specialized group. He's a scary guy ("SG") -- one of those people that can be super nice one minute and then screaming at you for being an idiot the next. He hasn't yelled at me. . . yet. Anyway, SG was seated to my right and in between our fish course and entrée he turns to me, takes me by the elbow and says, "I just had to tell you. . . I have to watch what I say in this group, I don't want to get in trouble. . . I think your dress is lovely. A lot of these women look like they're going to the prom. You look understated and elegant." And then he told me that one of the nicest things his ex had said about him was that "for a straight man, he had excellent taste". Huh?? I laughed (nervously) and said, "Actually, this dress is one that I wore to my high school homecoming dance; I just bought a new top to wear over it. This is actually my first black-tie event ever." At that point, SG started to raise his wine glass and wanted to make a toast to me. I convinced him not to. Later that evening, SG felt the need to make sure that I got a cab (even though there were abouta dozen of them lined up outside of the Met), taking me by the elbow and escorting me down the grand staircase, telling me to "be careful, it's very slippery". In my head I thought, "why are you touching me?"

He got soaked, I hopped into a cab and made my way back to el barrio. This reminds me of the time that one of my supervisors during a job I had back in college tried to get me to move in with him. But, that's a story for another day. I don't know why I always seem to attract the freaks. . .