The other night there was a big party at a club down in Soho hosted by the company Son works for to celebrate the launch of their joint venture with a well-known hip hop mogul. Since I shun the use of real names here let’s just call this celebrity Not Diddy.
I found out about this party not from Son but from Daughter who is good friends with Son’s Boss. Daughter’s longtime friendship with Boss is incidental to Son’s working there, Son having gotten the job on his own merits and talents which have more than proven his value to the company. I know this not because I have ever been to his office or seen their financial statements but because I am his mother and mothers know these things.
Since Boss invited Daughter to the party, she and a friend we’ll call Blue, because of his eyes, got all dressed in their edgy city best and strode to the front of the line of club-goers snaked inside the ropes awaiting possible admittance. Daughter gave her name to the even edgier dressed female door attendant who scanned the Not Diddy list and informed Daughter to step back because she wasn’t on it.
Daughter assured her she was welcome and began giving mini biographies of the company employees who were on the list like “that guy was my senior prom date” and “that’s the younger brother of my best friend from high school” etc. but nothing raised a glimmer of interest until she mentioned Son’s name by way of “and my brother works there, too.”
This information got a big smile from the door attendant who said, “That’s your brother? Sure, he’s here, I was talking with him. He’s a great guy. And we do have ‘plus one’ written after his name so you can come in.” She let Daughter enter and then put her hand up in front of Blue. “Plus one,” she smiled, “not two.”
Daughter and Blue looked at each other across the Great Divide and knew they were either both getting in or both going home but getting inside to where the celebrities and top shelf open bar were was definitely Plan A. Daughter pulled out her driver’s license and said, “Would you let my friend in and keep this as security until we leave?” The door attendant looked at the license with the NYC address and then back at Daughter surprised and said, “You have a CDL?”
Aside from living in Manhattan where people don’t even have cars, at 5’8″ and 110 lbs, Daughter would not be the most likely looking candidate for a Commercial Driver’s License, but in fact she has had one since her late teens when she drove a camp bus as part of her summer counselor gig. Once when she was home on a college break, she came out of a store to find her car blocked in by a delivery truck. She located the two burly drivers in the deli having coffee and asked them to please move the truck so she could get out.
The men exchanged a playful wink and then one of them said, “Well, sweetheart, the keys are inside if you’re in that much of a hurry.” Daughter reached into her pocket and waved her CDL over their coffee cups. Heading for the door she called over her shoulder, “I’ll pull it to the end of the block, thanks!” Needless to say, they got outside ahead of her. Those classified ads for truckers are right. A CDL opens all kinds of doors.
Taken on a recent art gallery tour, Daughter’s Featured Fotos offer Striking Depictions
faces in the crowd
modern hero
ocd anyone?
old news