As The Doorman, I typically arrive at the club early to have the time to exchange a few quiet moments with the bartender. We exchange pleasantries, breathe deeply, collect our energies, and prepare for the night ahead. Tonight I was running late for my normal time, but was on time as far as my expected time. Our ritual was disrupted so I helped put the glass-jar-candles on the tables—the final dressing of the club—and immediately began welcoming guests. There was a steady flow until the place was nearly full. The quartet was energized by the crowd and at one point invited up to play a hand percussionist, who was in the crowd with his wife. The musician ran out to his car and brought in a stool and a pair of natural wood bongos and sat in on a couple of songs. The group easily transitioned into Latin jazz songs that they knew. The night was made good by two couples, both pairs new to the jazz club. One couple said that the whole favorable tone for the club was set by “you, the bouncer, being dressed in a coat and tie.” I acknowledged the compliment but quickly and tactfully corrected the error, “I am NOT a bouncer; I am The Doorman.” (Unfortunately, many do not distinguish between a gorilla dressed in a SECURITY t-shirt and the cultivated coterie of professional doorpeople.) The other jazz-loving couple exclaimed that the club is as good, if not better, than any jazz club they’ve been to in New York, Chicago, Berlin, or Madrid. The atmosphere, music, and staff are top drawer in their estimation. Both couples are currently competing for the best and favorite patrons.
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