Hubby and I don’t get out much. We stay at home rather than dine out, and on the rare occasions we do go out to dinner, it’s nowhere near the downtown San Diego club scene where a beer will cost you upwards of $15.
My husband’s friend is leaving to do government contract work in the Middle East and will be gone for more than a year. She wanted all of us to get together at a club downtown for her one last hurrah before boarding her international flight. She purchased three booths at a club downtown and was footing the bill for the pricey food.
Hubby and I made the trek downtown and waited in line at the club entrance. The ever so serious bouncer looked down at me and demanded, ‘ID?’
I pulled out my wallet and tried to get my ID out.
If it were possible for my ID to rust from non-use, it would have.
I yanked and yanked, the line of inpatient club goers behind me staring me down, my ‘coolness’ factor dropping faster than the Dow Jones in 2008. Finally, hubby took my wallet, and after a good fight with it, my reluctant ID came out.
‘Sorry. I don’t get out much. I’ve got a kid.. and lots of debt.’ I said with an apologetic smile to the doorman.
The gruff bouncer slid me a sideways grin. ‘I feel you. Why do you think I’m here? Have a good time’ and put back on his ‘mean’ face for the next person in line.
I smiled the rest of the night. I’m not the only one struggling.
There are lots of us out there.