I want to tell you a story that goes back almost 15 years.
It was the mid 2000s, New York City, pre-2008 market crash. Many of my friends worked in banking, which meant fat T&E budgets and shiny corporate credit cards. Expensing a $2,000 night out was completely acceptable because we were entertaining multi-million dollar clients. Those were good times.
I was supposed to meet my friends out at one of the hottest nightclubs in the city (not to be named here). I spent at least an hour getting dressed and teemed with excitement and anticipation as I rolled up in a yellow cab and strutted out to the velvet rope, solo.
I knew the doorman’s name–someone who was also a partner in the club–because I had been there dozens of times with my friends. I knew he recognized me as well.
Standing about 3 feet away from him, I struck up a cheerful conversation and explained that my friends were waiting for me inside.
What happened next never left me all these years later: he acted like I was invisible.
There I stood, a young girl in her twenties at midnight, ready for fun and excited to meet her friends inside. And he ignored me.
I spoke his name several times as he stared right past me like I was a ghost–a nobody.
All dressed up, I hailed a cab and went back home, head hung low, confidence blown.
And because this club was so hot–and so fun–I went back again another night with a girlfriend who knew everyone in the nightlife world. She brought along two other friends as well. This same doorman/business partner looked at me and my friend and said, “You and you can come in but the other two can’t.”
I finally learned my lesson that time. And a great lesson it was:
