The club is
empty when I arrive. The bartender as soothsayer predicts we'll be busy come
9:30pm. Turns out he received calls from several groups a bit earlier. A woman with two
others crowded behind her announces that she has a public TV membership card
entitling her to two admissions for one. Didn't want to spoil their little
field trip, so I honored it. We probably won't see any of them again, but it
won't hurt when they return to their deep suburban fortresses and can talk
excitedly about their dangerous night out to the jazz club. Another group that
crowded the doorway is a bunch of scrub-faced underage kids. I begin to
dissuade them, since I'm continually reminded to not allow the under 21 set. I
learn that they're a part of a jazz class. The teacher arranged for them to
visit but no one told me. They were admitted with pinky swears they won't try
to drink. The horns in the jazz quintet are on fire tonight--actually everyone
sounds good. The packed club is in for a treat. I finish the night and have
seasonal beer at the bar. I'm enjoying the last of the night's music when I become aware that someone has sat
next to me. He's an older man...a clear jazz lover. We get talking about all the big name jazz
greats who've visited our city over the years. He tells me about a relative who
was working at a venue that got him in to meet Miles Davis, which is cool. An
attractive woman leaves her man friend at the table to step up to the bar to
order a drink. I tell her I'd like to get a photo of her and her friend for the
club's Facebook page. She hesitates and says she's 40-years-old and on a blind
date, courtesy of match.com. Her date seems
fine to me, but she's not pleased. It's got to be tough to date with
experience, expectation and reality all vying for a place in a yeah/nay
decision on whether to invest the time in getting to know someone new.
