Schmo’s Pub

A very upsetting thing happened to me last week.  I mean very upsetting.  (An aside:  my brother-in-law, Nek, tells a story where someone he knows told him that she was VERY upset with him.  He suggested that had she spoken to him when she was just upset, not very upset,  maybe they could have worked things out.  Too bad she had waited.   It seems that being “upset” is such a lukewarm word, it’s worthless without the modifier).  Anyway, as I was saying before I was interrupted, I had an experience that really threw me.

I had gotten tickets for a  group I like that was performing at Joe’s Pub (part of the Public Theater).  Yduj and I gave ourselves plenty of time to get there early enough to get good seats.  We made our way to the box office to pick up our tickets…. which weren’t there.  The young woman working there ran my credit card through to see what was going on, and advised me that she had a record of my order for that group’s show but that the  performance was slated for more than a month later.  On this night, an entirely different singer  was performing and obviously, we had come on the wrong evening.  There was a crowd gathering behind me as this was going on, and since I was once again, the oldest person at a music venue, and somewhat flummoxed, I started feeling very close to  feeble.  In a (generous) effort to throw me a bone, the woman offered to print my tickets for the show scheduled for the  following month.  These, I placed in my shirt pocket.

For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what I had been thinking.  How had I gotten the dates so confused?  Yduj and I  decided to go for a drink.  Me, in hope that the alcohol would loosen some brain synapses and help make some sense out of the confusion.  She, probably to try and figure out if I was too risky a proposition to be involved with.   When the waitress came by to take our order, she noticed tickets with the Public Theater logo sticking out of my pocket.  She asked if we had stopped by for a drink prior to a show for which we were early.  I told her that she was right…..that we were early , in fact, really, really early…..about a month and a few days early.  And we all laughed.  But that laugher was just bravado on my part. 

This is exactly the kind of incident that I use as some kind of signpost that my once sharp-as-a-tack mind may be slipping.  Possibly the beginning of you know what.  Just the start of a series of  missed appointments,meals, opportunities and more.  I have this image of someone (not me) padding around in pajamas in the middle of Times Square with spittle running down his chin, lost to the world.  In this fantasy I somehow know that this isn’t a first episode; that it is a culmination of a series of smaller escalating episodes of disorientation.  That may have possibly started, for example, with showing up  on the wrong day for an event.  

I’ve told this story to a number of friends, most of whom thought there was nothing to worry about.  That it was just some anomalous incident.  But in the back of my mind is a line from The Sun Also Rises where a character describes how he went bankrupt.  “Gradually and then suddenly.”    I have a feeling …..well, you know.

Uncle Junior on his way to Times Square?

 

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4 Responses to “Schmo’s Pub”

  1. Jackie Weisberg Says:

    Welcome to the club!!!!!

  2. iron(ic)man triathlon Says:

    I have a feeling you’re not talking about the Knickerbocker Field and Tennis Club.

  3. Ray Says:

    Neil,
    You are not alone and I am much younger then you!! I had tickets for a show at Lincoln Center and showed up a week later!!! At least you will be able to see the concert, I lost out totally.

    By the way, the name of the club does not include”and Tennis”, simply K.. F…C…

    • iron(ic)man triathlon Says:

      Yar… a couple of things. MUCH YOUNGER!!? who are you kidding!

      KFC…. just like the chicken. Good memory aid. thanks

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