Last week Paul and I attended a seminar about Social Security. Invited by our financial guy, Paul isn't that far from retirement so it made sense that we learn a bit more about the benefits, plus I was very excited about the location of the meeting.
The seminar was held at a very, very exclusive private club located in a gorgeous building on the historical East Side of Providence. One of those clubs where you must have the right pedigree and buckets of old, moldy money to join. Where women are probably still only allowed to be auxiliary members through their husbands.
Founded nearly 150 years ago, this organization is in what I am sure was originally a private residence. Renovated and added to over the years but without ruining the wonderful details, the club consists of several dining rooms, reading rooms, lounges, function and meeting rooms, a gym (in the basement) and even rooms where members can stay overnight if they have one brandy too many with the old chaps. Pip, pip, cheerio and all that.
Filled with antiques, this building is so beautiful that I could just walk around looking at the mill work, decor and artwork for hours. (I'd like to didn't say I did) I have no idea who had the connections for the use of this facility for the seminar but I was thrilled to be going there again. I have been to several functions there including holiday parties and private lunches and breakfasts. The owners of the real estate company I worked for when I first started in the business are both members. After parting ways with that agency, I never thought I'd ever see the inside of the club again.
During my previous visits to the club I think I managed to remain cool, calm and collected enough not to stick out like the bumpkin I am. Although I am certain that there are members past and present who share my last name, I'm also certain that my branch of the family came from a tree on the other side of the tracks. Having said that I am in no way ashamed of my family as you can tell from my genealogical search I wrote about. Besides, no one has any choice in where or to whom they are born.
So with as much decorum and gentility as we could muster, Paul and I entered the lobby of the club. Before we even hung up our coats and approached the reception area, at least two men standing nearby almost shouted...."to the left of the staircase, go to the end of the hall." We hadn't even had a chance to ask where the meeting was being held. Rather than making us feel uncomfortable, I found their 'assistance' rather comical. Paul and I looked at each other and shared one of those knowing smiles.
So as my title asks Was it that obvious we didn't belong there?! I guess I'll have to be more careful about the straw sticking out of my clothes next time.