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 IDsI 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 IDbe careful, not everyone will let you slide by like I did."
Cold and snow is predictable, yet when it happens there are many in our locale that adopt an Armageddon attitude. I guess they hunker down in their homes waiting for Christ to show up on a snowmobile hell bent (ooops, heaven bent?) to take on Satan for the final showdown. The club was slow. Among the hardy 15 or so who were enjoying the jazz quartet was a couple who had come to the club last weekenda dark-haired guy and an attractive blonde. The young woman, while gently brushing her sunshine-color hair aside, said she thinks of jazz when the weather is cold. "Nothing better than being in a jazz club on a cold, snowy night," she said. I said, I understand... it's like listening to an original instruments, all string ensemble rendition of the Brandenburg Concertos on a rainy day. Her cute face puzzled and she responded, "I guess so." I left her to ponder and returned to my post at the door. The mournful sound of the alto clearly defined the quartet's version of Coltrane's Equinox as I welcomed a couple of shivering, snow-wet guests. The young man in the pair is a singer, who was given an opportunity to sing a couple of songs with the band. He wore a retro-vintage white belt and matching white shoes, which was amusing. His voice, phrasing, and presentation needs polishing, but it was generous of the quartet to give him a shot. He'll get there... in due time.