The Work Dinner
tacos and titans of technology
I went to a work dinner the other week on Rodeo Drive.
Our C-Level Head Honcho was holding court. Charismatic, upbeat, and wonderfully assuring, especially in these trying economic times.
I sat next to a young sales guy with his button down sleeves rolled up, forearms thrumming with ambition. He had a salad and a vodka soda while I inhaled some pork belly tacos.
I mostly watched as he rounded out Head Honcho’s crowd pleasing anecdotes with contributions of his own. I was impressed how able he was to relate to whatever specific privilege while maintaining the respectfulness of an apprentice. One of us, one of us.
I made pithy commentary where I could, in between greasy mouthfuls of my delicious taco, but I was largely unengaged. A girl like me can’t fully relate to private golf courses and taxidermy trophies.
The discourse turned to Nobu in Miami, which is the best Nobu of all the Nobus due to the service. Apparently all you have to do is glance over at them and absolutely immediately there’s a skilled worker quietly asking you in your ear, “Can I assist you, señor?”
This particular Miami Nobu was where the Head Honcho and his wife had dinner with another Big Deal Head Honcho from a very famous, publicly traded software company. The sales guy’s eyes widened slightly at the name, but the rest of his face stayed handsomely neutral.
Big Deal Head Honcho had brought a date, who happened to be about 25 years his junior.
“My wife was appalled,” our Head Honcho recalled. “I mean, what could they possibly have had in common? He’s talking to her about shark diving off the coast of South Africa, like please, they’re like, two decades apart. How could anything we were saying be interesting.”
Everyone made polite murmurs of disbelief at the table, but I’d finally found my opening.
“I mean at that point, she was a decoration.”
There was a pregnant pause, then Head Honcho gave a bark laugh. It sounded like he wanted me to drop and give him 20.
I realized it was time to peel my thighs off the gubi chair and make my way down the palm lined sidewalk of Rodeo. The fading light made everything look periwinkle blue, and I watched a couple get into their Bentley from the valet. A paper thin blonde and a man with a sloping chin, belly tucked into an Hermes belt. I wondered if she knew anything about shark diving.