Alma Not

Step foot in a corporation and you will run the risk of getting pulled in to a standing meeting. This is not a meeting in which people neither sit nor recline, but rather a regularly-scheduled meeting which occurs whether it is necessary or not. My schedule is speckled with many. I offer this info as back-story to the following.

Date: Two Wednesdays ago.
Alex’s clothing: blue shirt, blue blazer, blue-and-orange striped tie, tan slacks.
Comment: You look like you went to Yale.

Date: Last Wednesday.
Alex’s clothing: red tie, white shirt, yellow sweater, tan slacks.
Comment: This week Alex wore his red tie so we would know he went to Harvard.

While these comments were certainly meant as compliments, I would like to set the record straight. I did not go to an ivy league college. I did not go to prep school, or even regular old private school. Neither did my parents. I don’t have a trust fund, and have never ‘summered’ anywhere. I’m just not that guy.

I do get it a lot, though. I think it’s a combination of the non-Lucy-Arnaz accent, my coming to this land from the exotic East, the British last name, the English major, and the whole good-fences-good-neighbors thing. To the casual observer, I certainly could be that guy, but come on. I get my ties at Target, for sake o’ pete.

5 replies on “Alma Not”

Lyrics to a song we used to sing at Women’s Colleges “back East”:

Where did you prep, pray tell me where did you prep?
I can tell by your carriage and the way you watch your step.
Was it Ms. Porter’s, pray tell, was it Ms. Hall’s?
It becomes quite clear by the way you sneer that your brother made St. Paul’s.
Ah yes and. . .
Where did you sail this summer the Cape or the Sound?
Your Abercrombies have a well worn look that proves you’ve been around.

It didn’t always go over so well

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