Lucky

I'm gonna be honest, I don't care for the bands that perform where I work. Mostly its washed up old artists whose heyday has long passed or one-hit-wonders who disappeared into obscurity 10-15 years ago. So the other night when Teddy Thompson played a set of achingly honest songs about heartbreak that nearly brought me to tears, I was surprised. He was good. Really good. Sad but funny. A hard balance to strike, one that I sometimes try to pull off myself. I can always appreciate a depressed person with a wicked sense of humor!

At the end of the night my coworker and I were sent to clean out the green room (the artist's dressing room/lounge). Teddy was slumped on the cheap vinyl sofa by himself smoking a cigarette. Looking like the quintessential tortured rock star.

As I cleared two half full carafes of wine off the table, I joked, "Great, now I have something to drink." My coworker shot back, "There's probably spit in them." Teddy looked up and deadpanned in his British accent, "Yeah, I spit in them." "Then I will definitely drink them!" I said. We all laughed.
I hesitated and said awkwardly, "I normally don't talk to the artists here but I just wanted to say that your set was really wonderful. Just lovely. I think the best I've seen and I've been working here a year"
He looked at me sincerely, "Thanks that means a lot."
I should have left it at that but then I tried for a couple more laughs. Just to show that I was funny too. The thing about being funny is that you gotta know when to stop with a joke. Oh well...

Anyway, I went home and listened to a bunch of his songs. They were sad and sweet and addictive.

Times like these I feel genuinely lucky to be working where I do. Lucky to be in New York City. Lucky to be me. Life is full of surprises - some of them are even pleasant.