In the land of the famous American automakers, attending an event that reveals the latest and greatest in the automotive industry, I find myself standing outside the Cobo Center in Downtown Detroit. This is my first year attending the Detroit Auto Show, and I quickly learned that this is more than just cars; it’s a giant party.
I landed in Detroit, with my Rainbow sandals, leggings, and sweaters. The cold was worse than I thought. We got to our hotel and had just twenty minutes to freshen up, change into proper business attire, and head out to the first party and debut of the event. Mercedes-Benz throws a party like I couldn’t believe. Held in a high-end hotel with a private entrance, celebrities floating about, and food that would cost close to $50 a plate made the night unforgettable. Among other things.
I lined up for the press conference, grabbing a spot near the front of the stage. I stood among my colleagues, and not two minutes standing and talking with familiar faces, I found myself roughly pushed.
“Excuse me!” my anger got the better of me.
The older Asian man shot me a condescending look and continued to push past me.
“Ah, so sorry about a my partner,” another Asian man, younger than the first, with black-framed glasses and a sharp designer suit, bowed low.
“Oh, uh. don’t worry about it.” I attempted to return the bow. The lights dimmed low, signifying the start of the conference, and I bumped heads with him. I stumbled back, tripping over a cord and fell into another gentleman.
“Ma’am, control yourself. This is an event for those who can compose themselves.” The man in the black suit with a bright pink tie looked at me like I was the scum on the bottom of his shoe.
“I’m sorry, sir. I tripped over the wires.” Explaining the situation wasn’t a good idea.
“I’m sure.” He proceeded to walk away with his head tilted in the air, and shoulders set in a rigid line.
What an asshat.
I took my place by my coworkers, intent on enjoying the rest of the show. After all, that’s what I was there for, not to get pushed around. The level of respect for female automotive journalists, especially one as young as myself, is something that is hard to attain.
“Are you OK,” said my coworker so quietly, I could barely hear her over the sound of the music. I nodded and smiled, turning my attention to the stage in front of me.
To further the opulence of the event, after the presentation and debut of a new model, a famous singer came out on stage to close out the event. With the recent blunders of other singers having audio malfunctions, I was surprised to hear her barely singing, relying on the background track to cover for her.
This night was getting to be a bit much. It was definitely time for a drink.
It was around this time that my phone started to go off. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and noticed that I had blog notifications. I was not ready for what I saw. My blog had been getting good traffic, especially for one so new, but someone was kind enough to re-blog one of my posts.
Thank you, Siúlóir.
I couldn’t contain my excitement. It was truly a humbling experience, and my colleague immediately noticed my change in attitude. In her own subtle way, she conveyed how she was happy for me. We spent the rest of the night drinking and eating our fill, taking advantage of the hospitality offered by Mercedes-Benz. Why waste such a good night to the actions of bitter old men?