He gave me the Once Over

I drive a nice, big, bad suburban.

My husband drives the truck I took new to college 16 years ago…hey, if it ain’t broke….

But, when he has the babies he takes the suburban. This is how it was Saturday night. I needed to go to a bridal shower and he needed to get home with all the kiddos, so we swapped. Mind you, you can’t see it, but that there truck has bumps, bruises, paint chips, and well, 16 years of hard labor all over it….. and I was headed to one of the most prestigious and high-end neighborhoods in the city. You know where this is going.

I’ll be honest, I’m a car snob. It takes a real humbling of myself to actually drive that thing because, obviously, I’m oh-so classy that I can’t drive a big truck like that. And now you know my issues. *ahem*

On top of that, I knew I’d have to drive through the front gate, present my destination, and head on through the labyrinth of, not kidding, mansion sized homes.

Front gate with The Man at Gate:

Me: “Um, hi! Just headed to a bridal shower at the St***** house!” (I said it like he’d be all, bah! go on through! Any friend of the St****** is a friend of mine! *end with a hearty laugh*) He didn’t.

Man at Gate: “Bridal shower huh? You know where you’re going?”

Me: Holding up iPhone, “I do now!” followed by uncomfortable-come-on-I’m-cute-laugh.

Man at Gate: He gives the truck a full once over, smiles at me condescendingly and says, “You know what street?”

Me: (I wanted to say, “Der, I just showed you I have a map. Of course I know the street!) I didn’t. I said, “Yep, it’s *****!” smiled again.

Man at Gate: “Oh, well, that’s down around the clubhouse…..blah, blah,blah”

I drove off thinking, First of all, I hope that gate opens because I didn’t see him push a button. Second, that dude just gave my truck the once over! What if I had been an eccentric billionaire and he gave me the once over. I’d have his job! And I’d punch his ugly mug! But, I’m not. I’m a girl in a big, red truck headed to play with some old friends. (end imaginary scene)

I swear I took every wrong turn in that neighborhood I could. I kept my window down, my phone up close to my face and my facial expression fixed in a “Where am I ” look just in case my truck looked suspicious and someone thought they should yell, “Hey! Work trucks to the back, lady! We don’t let your kind in here!”

If that actually would have happened, I’m sure I would have defended my lower-middle-class position with a hearty, “It’s my husbands truck! He has the nice car, you see! The BMW. Oh, and we lent out the Mercedes for the weekend. This was all that was left in the driveway!” I might have even ended such a remark with a resounding, “YEEE-HAWWWW!” and then made the tires squeal somehow and road off in a rampage throwing my beer bottles out the window!

But, it never came to that. In fact, it simply came to ANOTHER gate where we had to dial in to get to the house. Lucky for me, my friend lived in a cul-de-sac. Good thing too, the neighbors my have gotten suspicious about her cump’-ney and called the po-po on us.

Had I really been thinking, I would have leaned my head out the window to the Man at the Gate, looked him up and down and said, “May I remind you, you’re the man at the gate?” But I didn’t because, well, I’m nice.