Dear Urban Diplomat,
A few months back, I won courtside seats to a Raptors playoff game, which included access to the Platinum Club. When my date and I arrived, the maître d’ told us we’d have to order a meal even if we sat at the bar, which seemed bonkers. We were prepared to shell out $34 apiece for an old fashioned, but $130 for a strip loin seemed a bit rich. We left in a huff and got some dirty looks. Were we out of line?
—Pay to Play, West Queen West
Entertainment is outrageously expensive in this city. You’re perfectly within your rights to choose how and where you spend your depreciating dollars. Half the diners there are probably relying on expense accounts or trust funds to cover their luxury experiences, so don’t feel bad about the death stares. I hope that you were still able to enjoy the plum seats—and that you made fun of the foul play over some cheap post-game drinks elsewhere.
Dear Urban Diplomat,
I’m sick of my brother blaming his bad behaviour on his self-diagnosed ADHD, using his affliction as a get-out-of-jail-free card. A few months ago, he offered to organize my bachelor party. He not only failed to plan it—yours truly got stuck with that task—he didn’t even show up. Guess what his excuse was when I confronted him? The disorder he’s never even talked to a doctor about! Can I call bullshit?
—Suspicious Mind, Guildwood
It’s hard to deal with a loved one who refuses treatment, especially when you suspect the condition is a convenient figment. But what if his diagnosis is correct? Meds do work wonders. All you can do is encourage him to discuss it with his doctor, but when you do, make sure your frustration takes a back seat to your concern for his well-being. If he still won’t seek care, set some boundaries to avoid similar disappointments in the future.
Dear Urban Diplomat,
I have committed the most egregious pocket dial imaginable. After a hellish day at the office, I went for drinks with pals and spent an hour venting about the state of the world, my irritating co-workers and, of course, my boss. When the cheque came, I looked down at my phone and saw, to my horror, that I had accidentally called said boss for three agonizing minutes during my rant. Did he hear me? I don’t know. I haven’t brought it up with him, but I feel like he’s become more brusque and standoffish in the two weeks since. Should I risk raising it with him? And if so, how?
—Loose Lips, Long Branch
You have to proceed on the assumption that your employer heard your kvetching rather than hoping he didn’t. While two weeks is a brutally awkward amount of time to have let this hang in the air, that air must be cleared nevertheless. Your anxiety will only fester the longer you let it linger. Bring it up with him, and be humble. Without getting into specifics, apologize for any salty digs. Hopefully he’ll respect your candour, even if it’s delayed.
Dear Urban Diplomat,
I lost my pants on a recent sojourn to the Toronto Islands, and my friends won’t let me live it down. We went sunset skinny dipping at Hanlan’s Point after a few too many vodka sodas. When we emerged from the water, it was pitch black, and I couldn’t find my jeans anywhere. I was placed in the humiliating position of riding the ferry back with a towel wrapped around my waist. Since then, everyone brings it up, and these jerks started calling me “Pants Boy.” They even mentioned it to my parents and my girlfriend. How can I make them stop?
—Cut Me Some Slack, North Riverdale
Time may not heal all wounds, but I’m sure your pride will recover. Everyone has to be the butt of the joke at some point. Right now, it’s you. You might as well own it. Plus, for your friends, getting a rise out of you is half the fun—take that out of the equation and they’ll be less likely to persist. We’ve all made embarrassing mistakes. Be grateful that yours is a benign beach blunder. On the plus side, you’ve got a great story to tell the grandkids.
Send your questions to the Urban Diplomat at urbandiplomat@torontolife.com