A couple weeks ago Crazy and I went to dinner together. Fancy dinner. Restaurant week dinner. That's the only time we can afford those places--when there's a special.
I like going to see what all the fuss is about at these places and I usually try to pick the most expensive ones because you can't a beat $35 three-course meal...
So, I chose a fancy french restaurant in midtown. Jacket was required for men so you know they weren't playing around there. We get to the restaurant and I knew something was up the second my hand touched the doorknob. The dining room was bright and crowded and bustling. As we stood there trying to figure out who we were supposed to talk to about our reservation, there was this loud imaginary train break screeching that overtook the room as the music stopped and everyone turned around to look at the two vagabond who stood before them. We most definitely did not fit in at this place.
Aside from the fact that everyone was over the age of 35 and all the waiters were old french men, and there were no prices in the menu, it just felt so wrong. Now, I've been to fancy places before. I know how to put on my big girl dress and shoes and act like a lady. But this place was different. As we sat at our table I looked around and it hit me....this was old school New York. Old money people. It wasn't a trendy, dark, new fusion restaurant. It was a really expensive neighborhood establishment. These people looked like they've dined here since it opened! And they probably have. These are the people with money who have no problem forking over $60 for a meal three times a week. It's not a special occasion for them....it was just a Tuesday.
I realized while sitting there that we forget how many layers NYC has. Everything is so accessible to us all. Everyone rides the subway, everyone can walk into Tiffany's, everyone can get into the new hot club downtown. Everyone is important here because if you look the part and act the part, you can be the part (whether you have the funds to back that up or not). Everyone does there own thing in this city and there's always so much going on. But we forget that that elite group still exists. The group who has lived on this island for the last few decades and are true New Yorkers. The group that can afford to eat $60 meals several times a week, who have actual drivers, and do all their shopping at Bloomingdales. We forget that because we're so intermixed here--that lady could be sitting next to you on the 6 train! We don't have a "other side of town", there are no imaginary lines outlining the living space of the elite. We're all jumbled together.
Sitting in that restaurant was the first time I can remember that I felt out of place. I didn't belong there. It felt like a secret club that we stumbled upon where they all knew each other. And I realized that 1. we're all not as important as we think we are...there's always someone more important and 2. I could never be them. Not just because I don't have their money but because I don't want to have to carry on like that each day. Of course, I guess you get used to it but I like my H&M and I like the fact that sometimes I'm like, oh fuck I just paid my bills and I don't have any pocket money for the next two weeks. It feels real. The limits feel right. Because if we don't have limits, if there isn't a line somewhere, then we infinitely proceed and we eventually begin to only respond to "more". And sometimes the 'more' works out. Sometimes you never have to go down or back or think twice. You can just become super elite. But sometimes the 'more' gets less and your fancy carpet gets pulled from underneath you and you're left not knowing how the rest of the minions live and you can't relate and you eventually perish (I know, that's quite dark and foreboding...but it's worst case scenario so bear with me).
I don't want to live with infinite 'more'.....I just want to live.
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