My usual parking spot in front of the club was encroached on by another car. It’s hard to believe that The Doorman does not have a reserved place of honor and respect. But as fortunes tumble and break, I must scramble like the rest. I cozied my car up close to the intruder getting within millimeters of a bumper kiss. My car’s exhaust-end hovered close to the crosswalk. Apparently it was too close, since I got a $30 parking ticket—ugh!! Being the professional I am, I shrugged it off and assumed my post at the door. Among the first few arriving were a pair of regulars accompanied by a visually-impaired gentleman and his service dog. The gentle sir offered to pay for the lady of the couple he’s with and his own cover. He flared open his wallet and I spotted a tener among the span of singles. It never crossed my thinking that here was an opportunity to “rob him blind.” The group made their way in and took a corner of the bar. The proud working pooch plopped her plump patootie on the floor behind her master. They had seated themselves well beyond the domain of the door so I refrained from saying anything. How does one tactfully say, “Pardon me, your dignified dog is blocking ingress and egress.” Sure enough, the bartender stumbled a bit over the dog that’s clearly accustomed to spreading out when idle. Having the seeing-eye-dog in the club has got me thinking I need to contact the International Academy of Doormen (formerly the Royal Academy of Doormen) for counsel regarding the extent of our responsibilities. Should I provide a bowl of water, offer to walk the beast, and should I be making sure it doesn’t impinge on other jazz lovers’ enjoyment?
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