The Road More Traveled

Jennifer's Crisis: The Resolution (See below for Installments #1-#3)

Two more cocktails (and a rather scintillating discussion of Kantian Ethics, as applied to their friend Laura’s suspected implants) later, Jennifer glanced discreetly at her wrist to see if it was late enough to head Gynseng-wards. She couldn’t quite make out the time, however, as her watch was in its jewelry case at the hotel and the white, watch-shaped region left behind didn’t prove to be the adequate substitute she’d hoped it would be. Regardless, she could tell by her current state of intoxication that it was time to leave, and time, therefore, to face her fears and soldier on into the night. Jennifer and Lindsay paid for their own drinks when they realized that they’d lost the commodities trader somewhere between Laura’s self-esteem issues and Lindsay’s concern that her miniature dachshund, Chloe, was anorexic.

Gynseng was only three blocks away, but Jennifer insisted that they take a taxi. Showing up on foot was entirely gauche, and if they couldn’t have the comfort of Jared’s Escalade, at least they could have the beat-up yellow Ford and Tito, its friendly (yet vaguely malodorous) driver. It was about 12:30am when they finally pulled up in front of Gynseng, and already there was total chaos at the door. Men in wildly striped, un-tucked button-downs competed with women in skin-tight capris and halter-tops for the attention of the doormen. While Lindsay bent down to fix the heel on her shoe, Jennifer took a deep breath and marched right up to the front of the line. Flipping her hair and making a “model pout” expression culled long ago from the pages of Seventeen, Jennifer embarked upon the following verbal journey:
“Excuse me Sir, we’re friends of Jared Bromberg and Adam G-”
“The line is to your left.”
“But Sir, Jared said that we c-”
“I don’t know Jared. Do you have a reservation?”
“No, but Jared and Adam told us to speak with you, they usually l-”
“Well your friends Jared and Adam didn’t tell me that and they ain’t here now. The line is to your left, we’re reservations only.”
“ SIR, it’s just two of us and-”
(Silence, as the bouncer was busy moving the rope aside to let a pack of, in Jennifer’s opinion, heinous sluts inside)
“Sir, we work in public relations and my company does work f-”
“Please step aside, miss.”

Jennifer was practically in tears. People on line were staring with barely-suppressed hatred, silently admonishing her for her flagrant presumptuousness and reveling in the unflattering light of her failure. When she turned around to consult Lindsay about alternate plans of action, however, she realized that her friend was still by the road fixing her shoe and hadn’t even witnessed a moment of this utterly humiliating interaction! When Lindsay finally looked up and saw Jennifer waving at her, she hobbled over to the door (apparently her shoe had not taken well to emergency surgery and now faced a dim prognosis), apologizing profusely for the delay. But before Jennifer could begin to verbally lament the unfolding tragedy that would be their evening, Lindsay strode up to the bouncer and politely (yet firmly) informed him that she and Jennifer were on The List. Jennifer was shocked, and even more so when the same bouncer smiled and nodded before unhooking the velvet rope to let them through. She was so surprised, in fact, that she didn’t even have a chance to shoot a dirty look and a snide remark at the man who had, only moments before, threatened to demolish the fragile social structure that her equally fragile intellect had constructed. Jennifer, speechless with a delightful combination of confusion and pure joy, simply followed Lindsay into the dim and crowded expanse of Gynseng. No questions were asked, thanks to one Q’estion that already had been- and besides, Jennifer had more important things to worry about now, such as how to con some high-rolling gents into sharing their table and, more significantly, their bottle service. So, here we find ourselves parting ways with these two fine products of natural selection and professional styling assistance. And as we head back towards our respective day jobs, they head towards the welcoming cocoon of 100-decibel music and Brazilian models into which they’ll quickly disappear, never to be seen again.

posted by She-Ra, Princess of Power @ 5:54 PM