The full-house crowd tonight brought to mind a famous, super-short Ezra Pound poem:
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
The flow of people into the jazz club was apparitional. It was a blur of faces that all melted together into soft-edge petals. They all seem pleasant and good looking. As The Doorman, I am learning how to read people. A woman tonight reaffirmed something I’ve discovered: people receive so little positive feedback. We tromp around in the world doing our best, but rarely receive an attaboy or attagirl. As The Doorman, I try to find the balance or pivot point between a compliment and creepy. It’s difficult since there’s only so much room within the context of my relation to customers entering the jazz club. We had a woman clearly in the 30’s to 40’s age bracket. When she saw me there ready to screen and collect covers, she said: “Oh! You’re not checking IDs – I think if you asked to see mine, I’d probably kiss you!” My response: “I’m not fishing for a kiss, but you do look awfully young, so yes…I need to see your ID.” She knew that I knew differently, but in these 15 seconds I reaffirmed what she hopes… that she looks younger than she really is. As I gave her driver’s license back, I sealed the deal by saying: “Nice fake ID—be careful, not everyone will let you slide by like I did.”
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