IN MY SHOES: Inaugural Balls Not As Glamorous As You May Think
A veteran of several inaugural balls, Los Angeles Times reporter Carla Hall warns there is a huge disconnect between the enchanting fantasy and disappointing reality (“[a]lmost everyone who shows up at a ball the first time, high hopes in tow, ends up with that forlorn is-this-all-there-is? look”). Here are the first few grafs of her description of what the attendees are in for:
In the land of fairy tales and Washington, D.C. - at least during the quadrennial inaugural season - the mystique of the ball lives on.
Just the phrase “inaugural ball" conjures up images of a sea of tuxedoed men and chiffon-swathed women dancing under buttery light, elbows away from the newly sworn-in president of the United States and the first lady. …
Actually, it's a bunch of tired people looking for the cash bar or waiting in line at the coat check room. In the last few decades, a ticket to an inaugural ball, which could cost you anywhere from nothing to thousands, meant entrance to a cavernous hall or hotel ballroom with, more than likely, no place to sit and no food to eat and plenty of human gridlock. And that's if you got there before a fire marshal declared the place dangerously overcrowded. (It has happened.)
Editorial Note: Some people get to go to the ball, others get to pick up horse poop.
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