Why My Country Club Application Was Rejected

by Patti
 
I was performing with my band at a very “shoo-shoo” country club. There were so many sets of pearls walking around I wondered if all the world’s oysters had not met their fate at this particular place.

I felt a little out of place, what with my short, satiny cocktail dress. It was cinched at the waist and featured a zipper that ran the length of the front. It was very modern and cute, with pockets, and a little flared out skirt. But I definitely stood out against the backdrop of conservative sheaths and sensible shoes.

On my break, I hit the washroom to touch up my lip gloss and fluff up my humidity hair, and ran into one of the relatives of the bride.  She was appropriately tanned and had successfully hit her target weight of 89 lbs. “Can you play some Lady Gaga?” She over-pronounced “Gaga” like “Gaah-Gaah”.

I explained to her that the bride has specifically requested certain types of music, and that Lady Gaah-Gaah was not on the list of requests. She tortured for me for a good 15 minutes, going through every possible combination of, “are you SURE she SPECIFICALLY requested that you NOT play THAT music, or was it that she just requested THOSE songs but didn’t CARE whether or not you played any Lady Gaah-Gaah?”

On and on, she went, her super-thin, tanned arms emphasizing each point she simply HAD to make, completely determined to tear me down and reduce me to a quivering mass of “YES! WE WILL PLAY YOUR LADY GAAH-GAAH!”

I politely suggested she talk to the band leader and attempted to go about my business. An older woman that had been standing next to her was eyeing me. She was dressed in a long gold and black caftan-like dress, the requisite pearls strung neatly around her neck, and a big, velvet black bow in her hair. Yes, she was clearly on the verge of 70 years old and was wearing a BOW. IN HER HAIR.  Her face was a little lopsided; one eye was a little more closed than the other, the false eyelash clinging to that eye with all its might. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair, despite the bow and neatly cut bob, was a little disheveled. She pointed at my dress, “YOU. I liiike your duhresh!”  Whoa, Nelly, easy on the Scotch.

I looked down at my dress and smoothed down the skirt. “Thank you!”

"Why, I jess wanna unzip you! POOFSH!” She motioned unzipping a zipper, her hand sloppily slicing the air.

<insert crickets here>

After gathering her wits about her, Skinny Arms scoffed in disbelief. At first I thought maybe she was about jump to my defense and scold her for being so rude. Instead, she said, her voice dripping with contempt, “Why on earth would you want to do that? And besides…” she continued, her eyes rolling, “that dress is TOTALLY inappropriate for a country club!” She waved her hand at me, as if to dismiss me, and turned on her appropriate heel and walked out. Ol’ Drunk Bow Lady zigzagged after her.

There had been another woman standing with them. Her face was beet red, and she pulled the shawl draped around her shoulders closer to her body. “I am SO sorry!” she whispered at me. And then, she too slunk out, leaving me alone in the restroom.

I looked at myself in the mirror and studied my frizzy humidity hair for a moment. I dabbed some gloss onto my lips and flipped my hair off my shoulders, straightening them proudly. Then I turned on my hooker heels and walked back out into the sea of pearls.