Right. So, I know that I look younger than I am. This is partly because I try to keep myself young by playing and laughing as much as possible. Also, it's because I probably dress "younger" than my age.
This, I promise you, is not my fault.. Entirely. Do you know how hard it is to find appropriately aged clothes for a young 30 Something? Especially when the teens are stuffing their bras and wearing the styles meant for the 30 Somethings, smearing the clothing’s grown-up reputation and rendering it unavailable to the original target demographic? OK, so I too do some padding to be able to "fit” into some of The Man's idea of the "perfect shape" outfit - a dress made of 3 short pieces of dental floss for the "average" 34-24- 32.
Fucking media!
So, all of us normal shaped 30 Somethings are left with rock star t-shirts, bikini fit v. apple vest denim, geriatric fit.
I choose to go a different route and aim for the boho chic look. It's comfortable, loose in a stylish way, and can be worn, eccentrically sometimes depending on the bead strand, to many events. Hell, it can even be sexy when worn right, especially when paired with secret sexy underwear.
This, I promise you, is not my fault.. Entirely. Do you know how hard it is to find appropriately aged clothes for a young 30 Something? Especially when the teens are stuffing their bras and wearing the styles meant for the 30 Somethings, smearing the clothing’s grown-up reputation and rendering it unavailable to the original target demographic? OK, so I too do some padding to be able to "fit” into some of The Man's idea of the "perfect shape" outfit - a dress made of 3 short pieces of dental floss for the "average" 34-24- 32.
Fucking media!
So, all of us normal shaped 30 Somethings are left with rock star t-shirts, bikini fit v. apple vest denim, geriatric fit.
I choose to go a different route and aim for the boho chic look. It's comfortable, loose in a stylish way, and can be worn, eccentrically sometimes depending on the bead strand, to many events. Hell, it can even be sexy when worn right, especially when paired with secret sexy underwear.
Unfortunately, though, it does make one look younger than she is.
So, I'm wearing my Bohemian pants - loose, but stylish - and a t-shirt for my trip across the pond. I realize that I will not be attending any professional workshops or picking up any men on the flight, so who cares anyway? I met my goal of being able to survive an overseas flight comfortably. Period.
It turns out that dress DOES matter. Here's what happened that fateful day:
Notes on Traveling
Lesson 1: Dress
It occurred to me that being dressed in Bohemian garb is perhaps the wrong thing to do on an airplane.
First of all, I'm sitting at the bar at "The Mexican Cantina" where one can order food that is neither Mexican nor Texican as far as I can tell.
So, I'm wearing my Bohemian pants - loose, but stylish - and a t-shirt for my trip across the pond. I realize that I will not be attending any professional workshops or picking up any men on the flight, so who cares anyway? I met my goal of being able to survive an overseas flight comfortably. Period.
It turns out that dress DOES matter. Here's what happened that fateful day:
Notes on Traveling
Lesson 1: Dress
It occurred to me that being dressed in Bohemian garb is perhaps the wrong thing to do on an airplane.
First of all, I'm sitting at the bar at "The Mexican Cantina" where one can order food that is neither Mexican nor Texican as far as I can tell.
(What the hell is gourmet Mexican food? How can you "dress up" beans, tortillas, and cheese? Oh right. Put a Mexican Flag on a toothpick and insert it into the beans. Got it. )
Whatever. I'm there for the "Cantina" part.
An astonishing ID check (thanks Bohemia!) and glass of the cheapest CabSav later, and I have made friends with both the bartender and the nice gentleman next to me and am feeling pretty good about myself and the forthcoming adventure. About that time, I decide to return a phone call from my moma, a former travel agent, who thinks I have a shot at upgrading my seat on what is to be an extremely FULL flight. She knows her stuff when it comes to travel, so I thought I ought to at least try talking to the counter person about "generously" relinquishing my seat in coach and paying for a (possibly cheap, according to Mom) last minute upgrade.
I amble confidently to the counter, where two staff members are talking business and wildly gesturing to each other. I stand there patiently. Waiting. Not going to interrupt. My question is not really important, after all.
Whatever. I'm there for the "Cantina" part.
An astonishing ID check (thanks Bohemia!) and glass of the cheapest CabSav later, and I have made friends with both the bartender and the nice gentleman next to me and am feeling pretty good about myself and the forthcoming adventure. About that time, I decide to return a phone call from my moma, a former travel agent, who thinks I have a shot at upgrading my seat on what is to be an extremely FULL flight. She knows her stuff when it comes to travel, so I thought I ought to at least try talking to the counter person about "generously" relinquishing my seat in coach and paying for a (possibly cheap, according to Mom) last minute upgrade.
I amble confidently to the counter, where two staff members are talking business and wildly gesturing to each other. I stand there patiently. Waiting. Not going to interrupt. My question is not really important, after all.
It's a mused query, really.
Still waiting.
Still confident in having made new Cantina friends and remembering that I’m wearing my secret sexy underwear.
One of them glances at me and returns to her "very important" conversation.
A woman with a Prada bag steps beside me and both women immediately turn to cater to her question, which was something to do with her HUGE Jackie-O name brand sunglasses fitting in the carry on bin or would she need to purchase another seat?
Whatever.
Still waiting.
Finally, out of pity I think, one of the women turns to me and says, "May I HELP you?"
I smile politely (breathing in the "patience is an egg that hatches great birds" mantra) and ask my question about upgrading my seat. Here is how that conversation went:
Person on Staff: May I HELP you?
Me: Hi. I hear that this is a very crowded flight and was wondering how much an upgrade would be.
PoS: (sizing up my Bohemian pants and help humanity t-shirt and then shaking her head) No.
Me: Um. (Last I remember, "no" is not a price) So are there any? Is business class full?
PoS: Business class is not full.
Me: Great! How much is an upgrade?
PoS: (amused grin) Thousands of miles. Thousands and thousands.
Me: (confused, not remembering the whole American Airlines Advantage miles program and feeling like I'm actually speaking a different language) Excuse me?
PoS: (walking away and annoyed) Thousand of dollars!
And that's it. She was gone. I was left standing there bewildered in my Bohemian pants and sexy underwear, confidence shaken, wondering what had just happened, and wishing for a reenactment of that scene in "Pretty Woman" where I got to flaunt my "worth" in her face, saying, "Huge mistake. Huge!" But that's not real. And really, I didn't have thousands of dollars or miles to spend on anything. She was right.
[And scene]
Look. I understand that sometimes there are dress code rules. I understand that in a capitalistic society, the affluent are catered to. See Paris Hilton, OJ, or the MANY other celebrities who get special treatment legally and otherwise. I get that. I get that it’s wrong. But I do get it.
BUT there is no reason for anyone to treat anyone else with that level of disdain and inconsideration. And I represent the majority of Americans socio-economically. I am genuinely very lucky! I get to live out my travel dreams and choose what I want to wear on my adventures. Hell, I get to eat whenever I want! Lucky, lucky girl!
This will serve as a reminder to me to treat ALL people with loving kindness, including judgmental PoSes behind counters.
I got over it really quickly, as I met the loveliest person on my flight who had the most interesting things to say, and who helped me find the right train in the madness that is a London train station.
A woman with a Prada bag steps beside me and both women immediately turn to cater to her question, which was something to do with her HUGE Jackie-O name brand sunglasses fitting in the carry on bin or would she need to purchase another seat?
Whatever.
Still waiting.
Finally, out of pity I think, one of the women turns to me and says, "May I HELP you?"
I smile politely (breathing in the "patience is an egg that hatches great birds" mantra) and ask my question about upgrading my seat. Here is how that conversation went:
Person on Staff: May I HELP you?
Me: Hi. I hear that this is a very crowded flight and was wondering how much an upgrade would be.
PoS: (sizing up my Bohemian pants and help humanity t-shirt and then shaking her head) No.
Me: Um. (Last I remember, "no" is not a price) So are there any? Is business class full?
PoS: Business class is not full.
Me: Great! How much is an upgrade?
PoS: (amused grin) Thousands of miles. Thousands and thousands.
Me: (confused, not remembering the whole American Airlines Advantage miles program and feeling like I'm actually speaking a different language) Excuse me?
PoS: (walking away and annoyed) Thousand of dollars!
And that's it. She was gone. I was left standing there bewildered in my Bohemian pants and sexy underwear, confidence shaken, wondering what had just happened, and wishing for a reenactment of that scene in "Pretty Woman" where I got to flaunt my "worth" in her face, saying, "Huge mistake. Huge!" But that's not real. And really, I didn't have thousands of dollars or miles to spend on anything. She was right.
[And scene]
Look. I understand that sometimes there are dress code rules. I understand that in a capitalistic society, the affluent are catered to. See Paris Hilton, OJ, or the MANY other celebrities who get special treatment legally and otherwise. I get that. I get that it’s wrong. But I do get it.
BUT there is no reason for anyone to treat anyone else with that level of disdain and inconsideration. And I represent the majority of Americans socio-economically. I am genuinely very lucky! I get to live out my travel dreams and choose what I want to wear on my adventures. Hell, I get to eat whenever I want! Lucky, lucky girl!
This will serve as a reminder to me to treat ALL people with loving kindness, including judgmental PoSes behind counters.
I got over it really quickly, as I met the loveliest person on my flight who had the most interesting things to say, and who helped me find the right train in the madness that is a London train station.
4 comments:
You tell that tale well, sucky as it is. I still can't believe that. Whenever something like that happens to me, I usually just end up standing there stunned, probably with my mouth agape. That part of me that daydreams too much stops me and says, "are you sure that really just happened?" So I miss the opportunity to say the multitude of pithy, sarcastic comments that come into my head five minutes later. If only life were a movie where we could yell "CUT!" and have a second go.
Because, seriously, that woman needed to be told, politely of course, that there is no cause to be mean, no matter how many Prada bags she can't afford with her trimmed-down American Airlines salary. (Yeah, that's one of the multitude... too mean? :) )
I get the feeling that if I had been in that situation, my dad's voice would start pouring out of my mouth in a string of chiding obscenities about not treating customers like crap, and he would probably start on a very long rant on customer service and then promptly vow never to use that airline again, except I would have to tell him to shut up and get out of my head before he got too bad.
As for clothes. . . I have, like, seven shirts that I actually enjoy wearing. Everything else seems to be left over from my "I don't really give a crap" phase (the one where it didn't matter what I wore because it would all be concealed under a big, bulky sweater; deodorant was also scarce). So I kinda understand.
As typical Ginger fashion, well told story friend. You are so funny, even in your frustrations. I hate when folks treat others like that. And trust me, being a trainer and always being in workout clothing, I get that a lot. Glad it all ended well with the nice flight buddy and all. :)
Man! I hate it when people are like that...That is the exact reason why we do not live or even visit Scottsdale! HA! We only enter thoses city limits when absoutly necessary! Not only are you judged on what type of handbag you carry but more so on weather or not you have had any upper body "upgrades"...if you know what I mean.
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