I've been The Doorman for less than a third of the club's
history, so when when customers from the past show up they can be
irritating--and sometimes downright obnoxious. They enter with a sense of
entitlement and false ownership. We have such a group tonight. They were with a
jazz radio station that disappeared some time ago. They haven't been back to
the club for at least four years--maybe longer--but loudly flaunt and exert
themselves on the club. For them, much is the same here. Yet, much has changed.
When the former on-air personality asks me in an incredulous tone about
"the new guys" playing in the band and do Blah and Blah still play
here, I explain that the new guys have been playing here for years and that Blah
and Blah, like most of us, have disappeared without a glimmer. "Even you,
my dear, will be forgotten in two generations at best--in less time than you
think, you'll be no better than dust in the wind. Any and all you've
accomplished, your essence, your core will be forgotten and no living soul will
have a clue that you ever existed." The look on her face was priceless. I
pivoted and returned to the door where I could relish my own replaceable,
forgettable, meaningless existence as The Doorman at the jazz club.
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