Everyday Stranger

Going to the Races...

So today's the day.

I am off to the Royal Ascot races today (they call it the Royal Meeting here. That sound you hear is me snickering). Can you believe it? I sure as hell can't.

Yesterday, in a flirty girl dress and with the iPod in my ears, I strode out of the train at Waterloo station on my way to work and ran right into the Velvet Goldmine. It was seriously bizarre-there were masses of women in tight dresses, tiny strappy stilettos, and hats more bizarre than anything I had imagined. There was one woman that looked as though she had literally taken an umbrella, covered it in gold sequins and gold velvet fringe, and stuck it upside down on her head.

The tourists were taking pictures like nobody's business and I have to confess, if I'd had my camera there, I would've done it too. The hats were incredible! The people something smack out of "My Fair Lady", had it been done in the 21st Century. I couldn't believe it!

And today, I get to go there, too.

But even better, I get to go there as a special guest and customer of Company X.

Again, it's like karma drapped all the best Christmas presents I had always wanted on my lap. And despite the fall of the one-ton pony, I am ready to go.

The agenda is amazing-we kick off with Pimms on the terrace (I have to confess, I don't like Pimms) and then head to the Royal Meeting for a champagne bonanza, lunch, and then a dinner later which I am bunking out of.

This weekend I bought my hat, a ludicrous feature that is actually kinda' cute. Roughly the size of a massive Thanksgiving turkey platter, it is guaranteed to fit right in. I have little strappy sandals and toes painted fuck-me red. And above all, I have a dress.

The dress.

I saw it yesterday and knew it was meant to be. A sleeveless number in black with a diagonal creamy slash across it, I knew it was The Dress. I tried it on and it fit like a glove, all swirlign goodness along the hip, dropping dramatically to a flaring bottom which is perfect for my new kitten heels. Too late I found the creamy slashy bit was see-through, but what better time than the races, huh? My shoulders-built up from the gym-look great in the dress, and I am not too humble to say that my ass is really quite tasty-looking in the fabulousness that is the perfect dress.

The thing is, I am actually wildly nervous. I don't know why, mixing with the privileged is not usually something I am interested in. But this time I have been invited by the company that ripped my heart out and chucked me over the fence, and not only am I a guest and a customer to them with my position in Dream Job, but I get to spend a whole day in a special box-side seating arrangement sipping champagne, and something inside of me finds that appealing. Maybe it's because I am a girl and just fucking love the bubbly so much. Maybe it's because I survived the job loss and soared from the fiery ashes that were my life. Or maybe it's because I don't hold a grudge against the English branch of Company X-they do make quality hamsters, and I am not too bitter to admit that.

But the truth is, I am taking a train in and wearing my fabulous clothes, but I am a fraud. I wonder if it will be detected at Ascot, when I walk in in The Dress and my crazy hat. Will people look at me and know that I only paid £100 for my whole ensemble? Will they look at me and know that I have a very common background, that in fact some periods of my life were spent in what could only be described as poverty? Will the upper class look at my face and say "Jesus, the riffraff they let in here! She has the look of a home-wrecker, a waste of space that sat in her study in the cold dark Swedish winter, unemployed and hopeless?"

I don't really care if they did think that-I survived, and they didn't. But some part of me wants this to go so well. I never really get the chance to dress up in pretty girl clothes, and I certainly never get to do so with unlimited quantities of champagne. And I really, really never get to do so with Company X kissing up to me.

Mr. Y knows all about these events, and he told me that careers are made and broken there. That it's about what you say, when you say it, and how you say it. I am going, as are my manager's manager's managers, and Mr. Y says these events are for networking, getting ahead, and getting the foot in the door. Deals are made and lost here.

He says it's a networking deal. I definitely have the wrong approach, I am mostly interested in it from a cultural anthropology perspective. But then, I am a loser like that, and certainly a loser who didn't understand that there was much networking to be done.

The truth is, none of that interests me. I'm not good at office politics and not smart enough for them either. All I know is, I want the chance to see something that I never for a moment thought that I would be privy to seeing, to see it in The Dress, and to see it with champagne in my hand and forgiving and forgetting in my heart.

I will try to network.

I will try to not feel like I am a girl from the wrong side of the tracks crashing a posh party.

I hope my favorite pony wins.

And there will definitely be pictures.

But first-time for breakfast. Extremely posh peanut butter and jelly :)

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at June 16, 2004 06:39 AM | TrackBack