I really need to quit getting thrown out of bars with my children.
Once upon a time, like yesterday, Abby and I went to her high school open house. It started at 5:30 p.m. Correction: I thought it started at 5:30 p.m. When I pulled into the parking lot and found a space in front, that should have been my first indication that something was amiss, but I am always optimistic about all the wrong things.
We go into the school--I decided my code name was The Jackal, and Abby decided her's was Darkness (don't ask, it was funny at the time, although why is kind of escaping me at the moment)--and are directed to get a copy of her schedule from this line and her school photos from that line. Except I didn't do school photos this year because you know why? They always turn out terrible and I always forget to send them out anyway.
After getting her schedule we got invited to join a tour group. I embarrassed Abby by signing up for school updates on my phone, and then announcing I'm in the Class of '90 when the kid asked if anyone had been in the school before. Because I was ruining her "street cred."
Fair enough.
So it turns out the tour was just like the tour we took last spring during the eighth grade step up day or whatevs, so Abby and I were forced to hide from our assigned group and sprint down a hallway to get away. Because we were The Jackal and Darkness, this was not embarrassing. I don't know, I think you have to be 14 to understand the distinctions. All I know is I don't really care where the bathrooms are and was happy to get away. Abby gave me a better tour (her words) because she's been to school like eight days now and totally knows everything.
Her tour didn't last very long, though, and there weren't any teachers anywhere, which I thought was weird because we were supposed to be there to meet staff. I found a friend with older kids who knows the ropes, and was all like, uh, is this it? A tour? and she's all, no, the mock schedule is what you really want to go to and that doesn't start until 7, and I was all, what time is it again? and Abby was like, 5:45.
Well, damn.
We live roughly ten minutes away from the high school, but we act like we're in another country. Meaning I was not going to go home and come back at 7 p.m., but I really wanted to meet her teachers (and continue to ruin Abby's street cred). Translation: We needed dinner.
The high school is on The Heights. Most of the good restaurants are Downtown. And there was no way I was headed back downtown--I work down there, they're doing road construction and it's so bad it makes my nightmares look like Disneyland. There's not much to chose from on The Heights, but there is a golf course restaurant two miles from the high school, so we decided to go there.
Side note: This is the restaurant where we had our 20th high school reunion three years ago. And that's how long it's been since I've been back. It's actually a great place, it's just that we don't get out much. Obviously.
The place is packed, but the cute little hostess is all, I can seat you by the bar right now, unless you want to wait ten minutes for a table. And I'm like, nope, bar is fine--I mean, a table near the bar, it's not like I took my 14-year-old to belly up to the bar--but you do realize this kid is like 14, right? And she's all, well, I think that will be okay. And I'm like, whatever, pass that happy hour menu.
Then our waitress comes and takes our order (Abby got a caesar salad, I got a ham and cheese panini, we both got some insane fries that were a cheese-bacon-tomato-onion with ranch dipping sauce kind of awesome). A couple minutes later she comes back and is all apologetic and like, I'm sorry, but I have to make sure... you're 21, right? And Abby is like, uh, no. I'm 14. And then I launch into a detailed description of how we asked the hostess that question and what she said, and the waitress is very apologetic and like, yeah, this isn't going to work, and then to Abby, although I did have to look at you twice and I thought maybe you were just aging like really fantastically.
Well, that was nice. Except now our only option was going outside.
I decided not to share that this is the second time Abby has gotten tossed out of a bar with me because that's not exactly a parenting win, if you know what I mean, no matter how innocent. Anyway, so Abby and I had a nice dinner outside--the food was amazing, why don't we go out more often again?--except I did have to stab a wasp with my knife because hello, it was scaring Abby and I'm The Jackal and I have responsibilities.
Wait, what was I talking about again?
Oh, right. So we eat and we pay and we leave, and I got to do a mock day of Abby's schedule, and no wonder that kid comes home so tired. That school is HUGE. They've added on a lot since I went there (23 years ago, cough) and she's got to do a bit of traveling between classes. But her teachers seemed awesome and her classes are interesting and I learned I am left-brained in her Advanced Freshman English class. Because we took a test, that's why. Also: Abby is left-brained, too.
So the moral of this rather longish tale is that Abby and I? Had an unexpectedly long evening together, and it was fun.
The end.
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