It was one of those rare nights for me. I decided to go out to see a local band at the bar in the nearby town. I’ve had others tell me I should see this band, as they write their own songs, as well as do covers. Of course, as usual during these times, I wandered out alone.
Walking across the parking lot, I saw that the lights were turned on the trees and slide. I stopped and took a couple of pictures with the camera I had in my pocket.
When I arrived the first set was nearly done. I went into the fairly empty room next to the main band room, and sat by the fireplace. I thought it might be a good place to sit a bit until the next set started. I wasn’t able to sit for 5 minutes before a group of 4 women at a nearby table decided I would be more useful to them by taking their picture in front of the fireplace instead of sitting there. After being told that I need to take their photo higher, because they’re so tall and statuesque, and then taking another photo or two with another camera, I was tempted to pull out my own camera and take a photo as well, but I thought better of it. I decided to wander back to the other room before they sent me off to fetch them some more drinks.
I found a place against the wall to stand, which was near the entry/exit for the room. Of course, there was an ebb and flow of traffic, and at times, I would press myself against the wall, in order not to get knocked over by unsteady patrons. Fairly soon, the band started again.
They were a fairly good band. They did quite a few Tom Petty songs, the Smithereens and it was fun to see the crowd get excited and sing along when they did one of their own numbers. I should add that the person singing lead of “Refuge” most likely did not know the words, as mainly the chorus was sung. Overall, it seemed like a good crowd, most people seemed to find others they knew, and it was just a regular small town bar on a Saturday night.
I was really having a good time, when suddenly I felt someone reach over and touch my right shoulder and ask, “Which of the band members do you have a crush on?” I look over to see an older fellow (who resembled one of my children’s TV Show hosts, Mr. Dressup). I shook his arm off of my back, shook my head and stated, “I hadn’t seen this band before.” He quickly asked, “Where are you from?” I quickly responded, “It doesn’t matter.” He asked again, and I walked off, tripping up the stairs to another part of the establishment.
[J. a F.T.: Since I don't go out on the bar scene much and am a bit odd, I need to ask, does this type of approach work for guys? Personally, I felt a bit put off by this person by how he approached me. Basically, all I know about him is: 1) he doesn’t respect a person's personal space. Why can’t guys understand that if you are invading my personal space before even saying “hello”, why would I presume you are a “nice guy”? The nice guys I know would never do that.]
I did need to go to the restroom anyways, so I stopped in there. While in a stall, I heard a young lady state, “This bank suuuucks!” and she began singing “Summer of 69” in a wonderful voice. Her friend and her discussed that all of the guys at the bar were married and decided that there wouldn’t be any young single guys at the other bar in town either. After her and her friend left, I wondered why she didn’t start her own band, since there are so many 80s songs that should be sung by a woman. [Think about it: wouldn’t “Little Red Corvette” make much more sense if a woman sang it?]
I did go back to listen to the last song or two of the set by the band, but I found myself looking around and not feeling very comfortable. I did see the elderly lecher one more time, but fortunately I was able to make myself invisible while he went upstairs. I debated staying for the last set, when I saw the elderly lecher sit at an empty table which had a view of the stairs to the room I was in and the main bar (where he was in). I decided it was time to go home.
So, I moved up the stairs, through the crowd and to the door, stopping briefly when the couple in front of me stopped in front of the door. She was adjusting and zipping her coat, while her man gingerly carried her large purse. He realized I was behind them and moved to the side; I thanked them, and left the building, walking on the parking lot to avoid all of the cigarette smoke from the smokers on the sidewalk.
The lights were turned off of the trees and ice slide. It felt a bit desolate without the lights. I was glad I took a picture when the string of lights on the path and the trees were on.
As I walked back to the car, I realized that I’m lucky I’m not going out every weekend trying to find a single guy. I feel very content living with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment