Jennifer the Hostess, Part 1

We’ve won! The 30-something middle managers have finally created the perpetual three day weekend! Now everyone can go out Thursday, go to dinner, get drinks, stay out late, and not it not make a damn bit of difference slogging through Firday hungover at the office since no one really gets anything done on Friday anymore anyways. How full is your company’s parking lot at 2pm Friday? Power to the knowledge economy!

One of those Thursday nights, we, a clique of those thirty-something middle managers in various industries, sat at the oak bar, waiting for a table, at this for what most people would be a very nice restuarant, but would be slumming for real captains of industry. Very nice usually just means expensive and you feel more elite sipping a $15 martini even though most people don’t actually enjoy the bitter, throating burning swill of a top-shelf martini which only became popular by generations of those working harder, not smarter, who needed anything remotely palatable that would get their heads swimming as soon as possible to wash away the stress of a endlessly repeating work day. Handed down as tradition, young professionals idolize such cocktails as a sign of maturing, acquiring taste, or attaining some social level when the mixes are simply a testement of our ability as human to acclimate to swallowing bitter medicine, whether that turns out to represent a drink or a life. I often wonder if those who sip Dom or Krystal can tell the difference between it and anything else? How much is the flavor versus image?

Although they are older now, they act barely more mature than when they were in college, just have bigger bank accounts and tasted a little better life. They still struggle to find out what their real preferences are, picking up hobbies like hunting or pilates or mountain biking, for months at a time but never really making any of it part of their lives. Listening to them is of most interest, hearing the sales pitch in their stories where it is confusing whether they are appealing to you or themselves. Tom got married first, then Eric. Robert is engaged and I am stll single. I don’t think they see the waves they’ve gone through, thinking their situation is uniquely their own. Tom wanted to get together for some news which after a few Old Fashioneds, he warmed up to tell us now instead of waiting for us to be at the table. At first glance he is thrilled and proud, but between the tiny cracks in his voice as he forms the words you know he is terrified.

“I am going to be a father!”, Tom beams.

For those with wives and fiances, the hollow congradulations spring up as glasses are raised. But the fear hidden in his voice is contagious as the idea of them becoming fathers creeps in unlocking all those buried thoughts about whether it is a girl or boy, how do you raise a child, how do I prevent the mistakes my parents made with me, how will my life change, how will my wife change. Being single is great defense for such deep rooted issues.

Jen returned to take us to our table just in time to keep anyone from thinking too long.

“Please follow me,” Jen offered.

I can’t help but follow a beautiful woman at her request, the draft of her confident walk brought me the scent of her perfume, a blend of vanilla, cinammon and some unidentifiable sweet, tangy flower, which I can’t name but recognize as one that is a little more expensive than I’d expect on a hostess even at a nice place. Like the three little black dresses she bought for this job, the perfume cost more than she wanted to spend but knew they were critical to her being successful so she could move up. Back home in that small town in the dusty plains of Texas, she’d spent those hot summers during high school bagging burgers at the first fast food chain to come to town. That helped her get the courage to want to pack her bags and leave that place. That meant doing well in school after generally wasting her freshman and sophomore years but leaning life’s harsh lessons she’d thought her mother had gone through. Learning about boys and Marlboro Reds and Jack Daniel’s at once, all those weekend nights while her mom served drinks at the local honky tonk looking for her replacement cowboy, and a new daddy to help pays the bills. Scary, nervous, dirty, sweaty nights…