Compliments are dispersed sparingly these days. When they do come, it’s usually directed at my sunglasses, fancy sneakers or colorful watch. No one’s saying, “I like your gray, balding hair” or “that pink skin of yours is sure radiant.” Nope, they concentrate on the accoutrements I adorn, to distract from the pink and gray. I’ll take what I can get.
In order of appearance, the last 3 compliments I received, respectively:
1] Getting into the El Rio is never a hassle when you’re playing, but I always feel a little awkward having to explain that I’m in the band to the person that’s watching the door. Since I sometimes have a problem of being overly nice, I act very unassuming, demure and even lower my voice from its natural pitch: “Yeah, I’m in the band tonight, the Embarrassonic.” She usually looks up from the magazine she’s reading (door people are always perennially bored and have ample reading material) and says, “Oh, yeah, go on in.” I’m always surprised and relieved.
On this night, the same young, hip woman was working the door. I said who I was, she said she knew and I walked through the door. Before I could get out of ear distance she said, “I like your sweater.” Instead of leaving it at that, I replied, “It’s Izod; I found it at a Thrift Store.” A simple “thank you” would’ve sufficed. I always take it one step too far.
When I was leaving, I thought about giving her the sweater. She was in her early 20s, I was in my early 40s and the sweater would’ve been a dress on her, so I just said, “Good night.”
2] At the top of the stairs, a tall tranny with large hands waited. With a large, black thermal bag filled with 24 hot meals over my shoulder, she eyed me coming up the stairs. I walked passed her and she said in a seductive voice, “Hello, handsome.” I replied with a smirk, “Well, hello” and continued down the hallway, stopping at the last door on the left. I put down the heavy bag and bent over to get a meal. I could tell the tranny was still looking at me.
“Bend over, baby!” she blurted out. The sound of her masculine voice echoed down the hall. I smiled and waved, nodding my head. Her fishing expedition failed, but I felt pretty good about myself and knew that if I needed a pick-me-up, I could always count on her.
3] Yesterday a donor thing was happening in the lobby of the building and 1] I didn’t want the higher-ups to know that I was leaving and 2] I inevitably make an ass of myself at these events, acting like a buffoon, so I felt it best to escape out the side door.
Avoiding the front of the building, I took an alternate route to my car. In front of a new tattoo shop on Larkin Street, 3 young, tattooed guys leaned against the window of the store front. It was a muggy, warm day and they appeared to be taking a quick break from giving and receiving a tattoo - at least 2 of them were.
The tattoo artist was obvious. He still had on rubber gloves, a hairnet and a surgical mask that only covered the chin area of his face. I assume he had a beard, it would only make sense. The whole surgical type vibe reminded me of the keyboardist in Nightranger.
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As I walked by, he said, ”Aw man, I love your shades. Where did you get them?” Without stopping, I handed him my cheap, blue, plastic aviator sunglasses and said, “They’ll probably look better on you.” I didn’t make the same mistake twice of stopping and chatting. I had learned my lesson with the door person at the El Rio.
As I walked away, he shouted, “Thanks, you made my day.” I acknowledged his response with a low wave.
The 2 blocks to my car were very bright!
In order of appearance, the last 3 compliments I received, respectively:
1] Getting into the El Rio is never a hassle when you’re playing, but I always feel a little awkward having to explain that I’m in the band to the person that’s watching the door. Since I sometimes have a problem of being overly nice, I act very unassuming, demure and even lower my voice from its natural pitch: “Yeah, I’m in the band tonight, the Embarrassonic.” She usually looks up from the magazine she’s reading (door people are always perennially bored and have ample reading material) and says, “Oh, yeah, go on in.” I’m always surprised and relieved.
On this night, the same young, hip woman was working the door. I said who I was, she said she knew and I walked through the door. Before I could get out of ear distance she said, “I like your sweater.” Instead of leaving it at that, I replied, “It’s Izod; I found it at a Thrift Store.” A simple “thank you” would’ve sufficed. I always take it one step too far.
When I was leaving, I thought about giving her the sweater. She was in her early 20s, I was in my early 40s and the sweater would’ve been a dress on her, so I just said, “Good night.”
2] At the top of the stairs, a tall tranny with large hands waited. With a large, black thermal bag filled with 24 hot meals over my shoulder, she eyed me coming up the stairs. I walked passed her and she said in a seductive voice, “Hello, handsome.” I replied with a smirk, “Well, hello” and continued down the hallway, stopping at the last door on the left. I put down the heavy bag and bent over to get a meal. I could tell the tranny was still looking at me.
“Bend over, baby!” she blurted out. The sound of her masculine voice echoed down the hall. I smiled and waved, nodding my head. Her fishing expedition failed, but I felt pretty good about myself and knew that if I needed a pick-me-up, I could always count on her.
3] Yesterday a donor thing was happening in the lobby of the building and 1] I didn’t want the higher-ups to know that I was leaving and 2] I inevitably make an ass of myself at these events, acting like a buffoon, so I felt it best to escape out the side door.
Avoiding the front of the building, I took an alternate route to my car. In front of a new tattoo shop on Larkin Street, 3 young, tattooed guys leaned against the window of the store front. It was a muggy, warm day and they appeared to be taking a quick break from giving and receiving a tattoo - at least 2 of them were.
The tattoo artist was obvious. He still had on rubber gloves, a hairnet and a surgical mask that only covered the chin area of his face. I assume he had a beard, it would only make sense. The whole surgical type vibe reminded me of the keyboardist in Nightranger.
.jpg)
As I walked by, he said, ”Aw man, I love your shades. Where did you get them?” Without stopping, I handed him my cheap, blue, plastic aviator sunglasses and said, “They’ll probably look better on you.” I didn’t make the same mistake twice of stopping and chatting. I had learned my lesson with the door person at the El Rio.
As I walked away, he shouted, “Thanks, you made my day.” I acknowledged his response with a low wave.
The 2 blocks to my car were very bright!
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Greg...you're so fucking cool. I once saw Derek Smalls (Harry Shearers) give away his leather spiked armband to a girl during a Spinal Tap show at Wolfgangs, just because she shouted out, "I love your arm band". I was leaning against the front of the stage next to her and it left a big, positive impression on me. I thought Harry Shearers is so fucking cool. He's in good company...
ReplyDeleteDid we go to that show together cuz i saw them there too. I remember the opening band (Hans Naughty?) announcing that they were a "real" rock band. They appeared pissed at Spinal Tap. That was back when people were still confused about the authenticity of the Tap.
ReplyDeleteHave a good weekend, Rob!