|
|
|
I've been known to swing either way — between being a blue collar and white collar that is.
I had to glance at my business card again to remind myself of why I am scheduled to go to the numerous galas this time of year. My business card says "gullible," so that means my forehead must say "she'll go." Besides, once the fundraising season is over for the various cities, I begin to miss my opportunities to dress up.
It's not every day I get the opportunity to squeeze into a sparkly dress, shoes that hurt my feet, fluff up the hair and put on enough make-up to strangle my already struggling pores.
The newspaper prides itself on supporting many community organizations and endeavors and the big guy in the front office is notorious for funding a table for eight or 10, which means us management types get a meal ticket to the big "prom."
When I first started attending these events it made me nervous hanging out with what society likes to refer to as "the stiffs" or "the suits" because I consider myself to be a plain ole' hardworking blue collar in a white-collar job.
Sure, they're dressed fit to kill and the ladies drink their beer out of a fancy glass instead of a bottle, but they would be the same crowd in a barn dance with jeans and boots on.
Confusion comes as soon as we sit down, elbow to elbow, with enough silverware, plates and glasses on the table to serve three times the number of people seated.
More often than not, the dessert is already on the table and early arrivers take the liberty of shuffling them around to get the one that looks the most appealing.
Presentation is the key ingredient — and it's always achieved. With centerpieces that tower, mood lighting, endless decorations and a photographer for posed pictures, one could make believe that it really was prom night.
Sometimes we are allowed to take a date, so my boyfriend gets an opportunity to get out of his jeans and work boots and put a suit on — which does make him look a little stiff.
During the holiday season we were at an event and after his sixth trip to the "rest room" I started worrying that he may be sick. The last time he left, I followed him. He joined a large group of suits, huddled around a small TV watching a football game. Eventually, the master of ceremonies starting announcing the score periodically, probably to save on the foot traffic.
Inevitably I will either drop one of my many forks, spill my water or lose my napkin. This last dinner I topped it all.
I've been known to swing either way — between being a blue collar and white collar that is.
I had to glance at my business card again to remind myself of why I am scheduled to go to the numerous galas this time of year. My business card says "gullible," so that means my forehead must say "she'll go." Besides, once the fundraising season is over for the various cities, I begin to miss my opportunities to dress up.
It's not every day I get the opportunity to squeeze into a sparkly dress, shoes that hurt my feet, fluff up the hair and put on enough make-up to strangle my already struggling pores.
The newspaper prides itself on supporting many community organizations and endeavors and the big guy in the front office is notorious for funding a table for eight or 10, which means us management types get a meal ticket to the big "prom."
When I first started attending these events it made me nervous hanging out with what society likes to refer to as "the stiffs" or "the suits" because I consider myself to be a plain ole' hardworking blue collar in a white-collar job.
Sure, they're dressed fit to kill and the ladies drink their beer out of a fancy glass instead of a bottle, but they would be the same crowd in a barn dance with jeans and boots on.
Confusion comes as soon as we sit down, elbow to elbow, with enough silverware, plates and glasses on the table to serve three times the number of people seated.
More often than not, the dessert is already on the table and early arrivers take the liberty of shuffling them around to get the one that looks the most appealing.
Presentation is the key ingredient — and it's always achieved. With centerpieces that tower, mood lighting, endless decorations and a photographer for posed pictures, one could make believe that it really was prom night.
Sometimes we are allowed to take a date, so my boyfriend gets an opportunity to get out of his jeans and work boots and put a suit on — which does make him look a little stiff.
During the holiday season we were at an event and after his sixth trip to the "rest room" I started worrying that he may be sick. The last time he left, I followed him. He joined a large group of suits, huddled around a small TV watching a football game. Eventually, the master of ceremonies starting announcing the score periodically, probably to save on the foot traffic.
Inevitably I will either drop one of my many forks, spill my water or lose my napkin. This last dinner I topped it all.
The salad was served and to my surprise and delight it was just a regular ole' salad. I could actually identify everything on the plate. Wanting to get things started, I reached for the ranch dressing and drenched my salad with it. Before I could pass it on to anyone else the waiter whispered in my ear "that's horseradish ma'am."
He may sneak out and watch football, and complain that his tie is choking him, but he's the best date I could ever ask for as he traded his fresh salad with mine.
The moral of the story is this: Ring around the collar occurs whether it's blue or white, because they are put on one arm at a time whether it's at a construction site or a conference room. Oh, and always smell the dressing.
Sandy Turner lives in the Kansas City area and writes this column for GateHouse Media.
