15th
a high-class weekend
if there’s anything i’ve learned over the first seven weeks of my experiment it’s that mulleted americans have a distinct place in society — a zone in which we are expected to stay. generally, as long as we don’t stray too close to the fence, we are tolerated by those looking in — even ‘loved’ in a sort of mocking way.
‘look at that carnie with the mullet!’
‘hey guys, i saw a great mullet down at the pawn shop!’
‘the foreigner reunion concert had a lot of mullets at it.’
and so on…
but there are certain places the mulleted are not expected to venture. i’ve covered a few of my minor offenses so far (j crew, lexus, etc) but this weekend i found myself pulled into an entirely different sort of tension.
i was attending a wedding in upstate new york. it was a grand affair involving a beautiful service, followed by a lavish reception…. at a private yacht club.
to make matters even more awkward, i wasn’t just attending said nuptials… i was in the wedding party.
yes, the bride, groom and associated family / clergy must have had gigantic balls… of courage… in their hearts… because they didn’t make me cut the mullet.
for a night i lived the dream… enjoying fancy hors d’œuvres with names i couldn’t pronounce (even spelling hors d’œuvres just took me fifteen minutes) — drinks that didn’t come in a can — and the sense that i was one of the beautiful people (even if the rat’s nest atop my head betrayed my delusion).
perhaps i was a novelty to them. but what if i wasn’t? what if my presence started a small tear in the fabric of natural social order? i wanted to believe.
on my way home i had to change a flight. the gate agent said the plane was almost full, but she squeezed me in. i took my new boarding pass and made my way to the gate. walking down the jetway i looked at my ticket — seat: 4C / class: first. first class?!
an hour later, while enjoying a glass of shiraz at 35,000 feet, i pondered my earlier theory about the rip in social fabric. what if previously disparate groups really were spilling together? what if me attending a high-class wedding and taking first class home represented a cosmic salvo — a BIFPIB shot across some sort of metaphysical bow?
i didn’t have the answer. in fact, even thinking about questions this big was making my hair hurt. all i really knew for sure was that the weekend was bitchin’… and that i couldn’t wait to get back into a shirt without sleeves.
-BIFPIB-
