Youth is Wasted on the Young: Or the Older Folks that Have More Stamina Than Me

It was another long day out at the client hospital in suburban Chicago. You see, I travel four days a week and work, along with a team of 8-10 other consultants, at our client's hospital. Folks were stressed, tensions running high, but it was Wednesday, the second-to-last weekday (for us), and by the afternoon all thoughts turned to our favorite Wednesday pastime: TEAM DINNER.

Once a week our managing director takes the whole gang out to some swanky Chicago hotspot for a nice meal, a small compensation for being away from family and friends most of the week. If it's on the menu, we pretty much order it. Appetizers, salads, entrees, dessert. And don't forget the wine. Lots and lots of really good wine.

This particular week it was my turn to the pick the restaurant, and I chose a favorite of mine and my grandma (also a Chi-town resident): The Chicago Firehouse. I highly recommend it. What began as an early dinner (about 5:30pm) quickly became a marathon meal, wrapping up about 10:00pm, after my teammates became sufficiently soused.

You see, aside from me and another girl in her 20s, everyone on the team is aged 40+. I, being the lucky girl I am, had a freak allergic reaction to something in the air or in the food (still a mystery), and my eyes swelled to the size of golf balls (I put on my sunglasses since we were seated outside, and no one seemed to notice except when I attempted to scratch my eyeballs out). So why did I hang out? Well, the networking opportunities are endless, and if you're known as "that girl that bailed out early on dinner," your career just might never recover. So I sat, miserable and itchy.

As we left the restaurant, the ringleader, a director in his mid-60s (with 5 grandkids, I might add), announces that we're all going drinking. S (the other girl in her 20s) and I tried to make a mad dash for the rental car, but the director called after us, indicating the activity was not optional. S looked at me and pleaded to go back to the hotel to pack and get to bed, which was exactly where I wanted to go, exhausted and itchy as I was. We were met with taunts and jeers from the other team members (bear in mind, all grown-ass adults themselves) who called us "weak" and "no fun" as they jumped around on the sidewalk, yelling and carrying on for all of downtown Chicago to witness. Well it was clear what had to be done: S and I were going drinking with the bully consultants, swollen eyelids or not.

Thankfully, my coworkers relented long enough to let me make a mad dash for Walgreens to buy some benadryl to decrease my Quasimodo-like swelling. Then they took me to the bar and insisted on shots and beer (bastards), knowing full well I had just taken some medication. Peer pressure is a bitch. I can't believe I was being bullied by people with their own spouses, children (and some with grandchildren!) I can't tell you how many times I heard "Come on, Ari, don't be a pussy!" that night.

Final verdict: It was a good night. Didn't spend a dime, got drunk enough to forget about my itchy eyes, networked with some great contacts to further my career, and just enjoyed myself with some folks I happen to like very much.

But, seriously, why do people twice my age have twice my energy?