There was a tinge of smokiness in the air, but not at all how I expected a cigar lounge to present itself. The low lights, relaxed atmosphere, and small crowds scattered here and there made this lounge inviting. Nevertheless, the outdoor seating enticed me more as I ordered my drink.
I stumbled upon this evening by chance, and here I was having meaningful conversations with three respectable middle-aged professional gentlemen. It didn’t start that way; I was interrogated, as if it were a crime to show up and then be classy and well-spoken.
Once the liquid courage hit the parts of my brain that needed unchaining, I took the blows with ease. I felt I was being studied like a complicated textbook; you don’t understand it, but you try your best to figure it out. I was judged. I should be used to it by now. I won’t lie, at times I got agitated to the point of taking my leave.
To the left of me was a luxury car salesman. He was dressed as if he came from the showroom, quite robust, straightforward, with much to say. He was opinionated and the initiator of the interrogation. To the right of me was a subdued medical professional, very easy-going and down to earth. He chose to listen mostly, paying a lot of attention to the interrogation and occasionally adding to it. Opposite me was my friend, the host for the evening. He’s a V.P., although you wouldn’t have guessed it. He made himself very comfortable in front of me in his relaxed attire, as if he paid extra for prime seating. His intimidating demeanour portrays confidence, yet he gives off a very chilled vibe, like nothing phases him. I thought he’d be on my side, but he joined his buddies on the other side of the ring, very much amused. For sure, I’d get a report card from him tomorrow!
So as I travelled this road of being tested as the only female made to feel like she needs to be accepted in this gentlemen’s club, I thought to master my way for a comeback. I played with the ice cube in my glass. If I couldn’t be the smooth, intense bourbon in my old-fashioned cocktail, I definitely wasn’t going to be the cherries, no matter how sweet they were. I chose to be the solid piece of ice that took up the majority of space in my drink. After what seemed like the questions being hurled at me were exhausted. I demanded to ask just one question to all three: ‘What makes you worth knowing?’
Mr. V.P. decided to go first. His answer was fair; he has many friends from all walks of life, and so he networks and brings people together in turn, they can help each other. Mr. Medical let Mr. Sales go next. I noticed he was struggling to get his answer together. Mr. Sales fumbled about how he also knows a lot of people, and he was great at what he does, and then piggybacked off of Mr. V.P. Alas came Mr. Medical, who cut it short, saying he would help anyone any way he could, but then added he would want the favour returned.
It amused me to see them amuse themselves. They discussed how tough this simple question was to answer. Not one of them asked me how unimpressed I was with their answers. They convinced themselves their answers were pretty good, yet a sense of insurability filled the air, clashing with the smoke.
I really was disappointed. Three grown professionals were put on the spot, and not one of them convinced me why they were worth knowing. I rested my case and took my leave, placing my drink down as the block of ice clashed with the glass. Now, the way to consume this cocktail is to savour the bourbon, devour the cherries, but you make sure that block of ice remains solid.
This experience assured me that showing up and standing my ground made me equal; I was just as smart and respectable as all three gentlemen, if not more. But being classy and well spoken took me over the edge. I did get a report card the next day, just like I knew I would. I did pretty well. The report told me exactly why I was worth knowing and how that block of ice did anything but melt.
