This evening after supper, I donned this outfit and headed into the city, for a sort of architecture related social hour being co-sponsored by the Boston Society of Architects. I figured I might be able to do some "networking". I hate that word almost as much as I hate the practice. Trying to find a job by yacking with strangers over cocktails is something I find abhorrent, but I'm trying to learn, as this is apparently the way things are done these days. Anyway...
I had a bad feeling as I arrived at a pseudo-fancy bar with a velvet rope out front and a bouncer in an ill-fitting suit guarding the entry. But I thought, what the hell, I'm already here...
Inside, the place is dark and incredibly loud, packed back to front with what Mrs. G. might call "Go People". (If I have to explain go-people to you, you probably won't get it.) I could practically hear them thinking "whose the weirdo on the red pants?' So I push my way to the bar and order an Old-Fashioned form the sl*tty bartendress. Her face dropped. She ran down to the other end of the bar, talked to the other sl*tty bartendress, and then to the jock bartenders. Five minutes later she returns and says "I can't make that." (not "I'm sorry, but I can't make an Old Fashioned. Would you care for something else?" just "I can't make that.") Perhaps I should have ordered an oversised martini glass filled with overpriced vodka and brightly colored scnaaps.
So in an effort to be gracious, I order a Crown Royal Manhattan on the rocks, which she fixes perfectly, then tells me I owe her fourteen dollars! Given the fact that my jacket, tie and shirt didn't cost that much combined, I was fairly appalled. So I drank up my whiskey, got my coat and high-tailed it out of there. The entire ordeal lasted about twenty minutes.
The night was not a total loss, far from it in fact. The weather was beautiful, just cold enough and wonderfully clear. Boston Common looked lovely in the snow, people were ice skating outside, and it was not even eight o'clock yet. So I stopped by L.J.Perretti,bought myself a nice cigar, and took a stroll. I wandered through the Public Garden, past the Swan Boat Pond, then down the old brick sidewalks of Charles Street for some window shopping at the pricey antique shops and art galleries. From there I meandered up the narrow old streets of Beacon Hill, past Louisburg Square, admiring some of Boston's most famous architecture, the beautiful old brownstones behind the State House.
Turns out that's what this outfit was for after all. On old Beacon Hill, nobody thinks twice about a man in red pants and a blazer.
Mrs. G. wasn't even upset that I stunk of cigar when I returned. All in all, a pleasant evening.