Like last night, for instance, I know this makes me a dork but I seriously look forward to my karaoke fix every Wednesday night. The sound system at Randolph Air Force Base (RAFB) is clear and Clyde’s song selection, varied, but I especially love that it is an early and a smokefree evening—running from 6:00-9:00pm. Besides, it is like Cheers, the eighties sit com where “everyone knows (my) name.” The other “regulars” are good people and it’s an enjoyable night of singing. I get to let off steam but have no problem getting up for work the next morning; plus, it helps that it is not a drive across town to get there.
I suspected something was wrong when I entered the club and didn’t see our normal KJ (karaoke jockey) but I didn’t get spooked, just asked the girl that went with one of the two men fiddling with the sound equipment if they were doing a special event or if it was karaoke as usual. “Yeah, it’s karaoke,” she said. So, then I braved the bar, which was teeming with men and women, soldiers in uniform, who were getting an early start on their Veterans’ Day celebrations. The line, growing longer behind me while the only bar staff member counted out her till (end of shift?), started getting louder and louder with their complaints about, "What do I have to do to get a drink around here?” I continued waiting quietly & patiently, and when a second bartender appeared she ran to open a bottle of wine for me—and couldn’t find the corkscrew. But I paid for my order and she said she’d bring it to me when a third employee showed up to find the bottle opener. . .
I go back, emptyhanded, to the karaoke section and it’s still not up and running. Then the technician, who I believe had gone home and thrown back a few himself figuring his work was done for the day before he got called back for this technical snaffoo, started hitting on me. "What can I do to make this up to you, Pretty Lady? What is your name? Can I buy you a drink?”
“Not necessary, thanks. I bought it already, just waiting for it to arrive. She said she’d bring it.”
He continued flapping his flaccid flapjacks, pulling up a chair and going on and on about who he was and how sorry he was. . .so I left. No drinks, no music, no fun or refund. (It was just as well. I wasn’t going to imbibe if there was no entertainment. Where was the point in that?) I drove home, hating that expectations didn't disippate when life didn't cooperate with a person's plans and, frustrated as I was, that this guy wanted me to make him feel better for his inability to fix his system. So just like that, my weekly appointment with destiny was cancelled. What's worse? I had done a favor for a coworker, who wanted to get off early Thursday, so I switched shifts with her. . .meaning I could’ve stayed up all night had I a mind to.
This morning, with my husband and son home for Veterans’ Day, I wanted to go (by myself) to get a walk in, knowing I would have to leave home around noon to get to work for the afternoon shift. “Well, I’ll go,” my husband volunteers. “And we’ll take the dogs. They could use a walk too.” But then he gets on the computer for “just a second” and my son, who we think should also get some exercise and fresh air for the day, won’t put down his guitar. . .Needles to say, it is twenty minutes before everyone is dressed in walking clothes and the four dogs are leashed.
No sooner did we clear our cul-de-sac and the rain poured. I saw where it appeared to be a blue sky, beyond the dark storm front so I started running, so desperate was my need to have something work out as planned. . .But the dark cloud followed, until soaked and defeated, we returned home fifteen minutes later (the cold damp, not going to make my cold any better).
Now, I must dry off and get dressed to get back in the saddle and work. So from under this dark cloud I cannot wait to clear, I am over and out for the week. With love, Rita