As The
Doorman at the jazz club, I’m expected to exercise discretion. I am the stoic, but welcoming face at the door.
Since the club attracts all kinds, I pride myself in being accepting
and nonjudgmental. I’d never make fun of anyone.
That’s why I was mortified by my faux pas. It came out inadvertently. Here’s
what happened: Every few months we have a jazz-loving blind man who comes to
the club. He’s usually accompanied by his trickster service dog who I swear
pulls antics because he knows his master can’t see. The malicious mutt will jam
his snout into my crotch while I’m engaged in a serious, civil conversation
with the owner or splay his laird-ass body on the floor blocking passage for the
wait staff in our intimate-sized club. I like the vision-impaired gentleman. I
don’t trust his dog. So when he shows tonight, I was happy to see him and
glad he left the dog behind. Enthusiastically, I blurt out “Long time no
see!” Geeze, I could have phrased it better. Ugh! What could be
worse? I suppose I could get someone at the door with a prominent facial mole
fumbling with their money and apologizing that they’re paying the cover with
five crumpled-up singles and repeating that they’re sorry and me saying
something stupid like, “It’s all good… don’t make a mountain out of a mole
hill.” And then learning they had gone out for Mexican, and asking “So, did you
have chicken mole… I’ve heard their mole sauce is real good.”
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