An Impromptu Post

Mostly ’cause last night was too unnerving not to write about.

Earlier this year I recorded a four-song demo–a mix of pop and jazz tunes–with the intent of shopping it around to try and score a gig.  Unfortunately the musician with whom I did that demo doesn’t speak to me anymore.  I started working with a new musician but things have stalled out pretty seriously since he lost the gig we thought we’d be doing this summer.  He now wants to put together yet another demo to shop around.  He also won’t do a gig unless there’s real money involved, which, as a total newbie to the scene, is not my main concern–I really just want some experience right now.  The long and short of this is that I thought it would be a good idea to network with some other musicians and a good way to do that is at jam sessions and open mics.

So last night, despite the smog, humidity and a general desire to remain parked on my couch, I got up at 9:45pm and headed out to The Rex for their Tuesday Night Jam.  We’ll just leave aside the fact that I felt like I’d stumbled into a private get together for Humber College jazz program graduates.  No one seemed to be a day over 21 and the two women they allowed to sing at all seemed to already be known to the band leader.  I never did figure out how one muscles their way into being one of the cool kids but that was, frankly, beside the point by the end of the evening.

When I arrived at the joint, I headed straight for the bar.  The place was relatively full and I didn’t want to take up a table as a single person.  I asked a fella at the bar if either of the two seats next to him were taken and took the one farthest away from him when he said no.  The house band was in the midst of a break so I took the time to write some stuff down in my journal.  As I was writing the guy who I’d asked about the seat–let’s call him Hair, ’cause his was all helter skelter–asked what I was writing.  I tried to blow him off by saying it was something for my therapist.  Usually when you admit that you’re seeing a therapist, people just back away slowly, but this seemed to encourage him.  Hair asked me if I do everything my therapist says, which I assume was a sad pick up line.  Finally, I abandoned the course of being courteous, said something non-committal and got really focused on what I was writing, refusing to make eye contact.  The band started to play then and I put my journal away and turned my back squarely to Hair.  I hoped that the fact that I wasn’t going to allow him to speak to me anymore should be a clear signal to back the hell off.

Au contraire, mon frere.

Around 11:45pm, I looked at my watch, figuring I would put in another 15 minutes of this and then go home.  I’d been pitched forward in my chair for about an hour now and leaned back in my chair…and was horrified to feel hands rubbing across my back and shoulders .  I was wearing a tube top which provided a lot of area for rubbing.  I spun around to see Hair sitting there with a big grin on his face.  The band had started up again so I didn’t hear what his explanation was and he didn’t hear me bellow at him that he had totally encroached on my space.  Which of course was a stupid thing to say anyway, but I was so fucking creeped out that I wasn’t thinking straight.  I should have just taken my shit and moved to another spot in the bar at that point.  I should have poured his drink in his lap.  I should have screamed at him in a way impossible to misconstrue that he was way out of line.  But instead I sat there thinking, “It’ll be fine,” not wanting to have to tell the bartender to move my tab to a table or another spot.  So I stupidly stayed in that seat and leaned back again.  And again, Hair took the opportunity to grab my arm and give me another caress.

At this point, the bartender, who had already given me an “Are you okay” look came over and actually asked if I was okay.  I asked her for the bill, tipped big and left feeling like I might puke.  And when I got on the train home I burst into tears.  I don’t even know why.  I just felt really gross and dirty.

The lesson:  next time, sit with my back to a wall.