I come from a lower middle class family from the outskirts of Boston. Both my mother and father were blue collar factory workers albeit the salt of the earth. Though I am thankful for my humble upbringing, It had always been my insatiable desire to reside in the beautiful and exciting concrete jungle that is New York City.
Things started to finally come together for me after drudging through years of my menial entry level employment when I managed to land a lucrative position at a financial services company, and I could afford my own quaint little studio apartment in Park Slope. You could say life was going pretty well for me.
Then I met Alan, a dapper management consultant from an high-class Greenwich, Connecticut upbringing who you rarely saw without his hair thoroughly coiffed and his monogram stitched on his perfectly pressed Oxford cuffs. Alan and I could not have been more opposite, yet for some reason I was insatiably attracted to his suave attitude and bumptious demeanor.
After dating for about a month, my parents, beaming with pride, were finally going to take a vacation to witness my exciting new life in the big city. I decided things were going well with Alan and I would like for us all to meet as my dad insisted he would like to treat us to a meal.
It just so happened that the Patriots game would be on and both Alan and my family are dedicated fans and have man crushes on Tom Brady (but who doesn’t?). I figured it would be a good bonding experience for my proletarian father and my highly privileged boyfriend since I cannot imagine them having anything else in common.
I chose a modest yet charming little sports bar in the East Village where they could make each other’s acquaintance. The entrees were just as you would expect for such an establishment; Burgers, cheesesteaks, chicken fingers, and all reasonably priced between $10-15. It was the kind of place my parents could afford to treat us but not break the bank.
We arrived at the pub and when the waitress came to retrieve our drink order, it consisted of the usual Bud Light or a gin and tonic. Alan however, was used to something a little more extravagant.
“Do you guys have Patron Silver? I will do a double on the rocks.”
He quickly slurped down his $23 drink and fervently ordered a second.
When it came time to order dinner, my mother, father and I skipped the appetizer and ordered burgers at $11-13 a pop. When it was Alan’s turn to select his entree, I was simply mortified.
“I am going to start with an order of the fried calamari, then for my entee I will take the 20 OZ Certified Black Angus T-bone Steak. I feel like a little surf and turf tonight!”
I glanced at the menu and the price of his entree is $32. FOR A SHITTY STEAK AT A SHITTY SPORTS BAR.
This was also followed by another double Patron Silver on the Rocks.
And then another.
When the check came, Alan’s food alone was more than what it cost for the rest of us to eat AND drink. I insisted that my dad allow us to split it but being the ingratiating person that he is, he wouldn’t hear of it.
When it was time to leave, Alan was completely ungrateful and didn’t even offer my dad a ‘thank you.’
That is hopefully the last time I will ever see Alan because if I do, I will probably punch him in the face.
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