Today was perfection. Among other things, there was shopping at Dumbo Market in Brooklyn (where I found an exquisite vintage shawl to wear with dressy outfits), snack and a perfect gimlet at SugarCane, and to-die-for Neopolitan pizza at Ribalta near NYU. Add to that a stroll across the Brooklyn Bridge. Oh, and add to that the discovery of a pop-up shop called Koku that featured dairy-free ice cream. My mint chocolate chip (cacao nib) was unreal. And no gut issues afterward — yay!
I have to do a u-turn to last night. We had decided to go to a club called Slate. It has a slide that goes from ground level to the floor below. What!?
When we joined the long line to get in, we knew we were at a hot destination. People began walking back from the entrance, passing by us on the sidewalk, not admitted for whatever reason. We knew we would be admitted, no problem.
Just a few steps from the door, one of the bouncers told my friend Carole that she couldn’t come in with her open shoes (aka Birkenstocks). Why would you tell us that after we’ve waited in line for an hour and a half? Could you have said something earlier? We told Carole’s daughter and her best friend to go on in and we would try to meet them later.
Carole and I began walking the streets of NYC trying to find closed shoes at 10:30 pm. Carole thought of CVS. They are open 24/7. Long story short, I told our sob story to the young clerk, and he went downstairs to the stockroom to see what he could find. Lo and behold, he emerged with the ugliest shoes ever mass manufactured and presented them to us. They were the right size and only $12.99. We were elated! Carole deserves the Best Mom Ever award. She slipped off her Birks and put on this indescribable footwear for the sake of being with her daughter at a dance club. I almost peed my pants laughing. Oh, but there’s more. We got back to the entrance, and they told us Carole couldn’t go in because she had her open shoes in her backpack. We appealed to the manager standing nearby who, thankfully, said, “Just let them in.” We probably looked like we may snap and cause a riot, so they humored us.
Once we found ourselves inside, I felt like I had been accepted to Harvard or something. It’s like you have to donate a vital organ to get into this place! I slid down that slide and hit the floor ready to party.
I can dance all night long. Any time. Any where. Dancing makes me feel alive.
Everyone was pretty much in a big mob dancing together. A really young guy began dancing with me. I asked him how old he was. He said, “Twenty-four.” I responded, “My 25-year-old son died on January 1, and if he were alive, he would be dancing right now just like this.” I meant it in the best way possible. And I think this young man realized that somehow he was part of something bigger than a night at Slate.
One of the videos I treasure is of Chandler at one of his friend’s mom’s birthday party cutting a rug with the “mature” ladies not too long before the accident. There was no spirit of condescension or patronization. Chandler honored them and wanted to enjoy the moment with them.
That is the movie that played in my mind last night at Slate. Thanks to my awesome friend Carole who wore ugly shoes in public so we could slide in and enjoy the moment.
