My wife and I went to a bar the other night to take in a show by a friend of mine who does lovely jazz standards. We got there early enough to eat, although - since my friend is a popular performer - our table was well back from the stage.
We had a lovely dinner, and the music began. Soon, though, I got a little grumpy with our seats, which were behind a pillar and further back from the performers than I like to be. So on one of my trips to the men's room, I scouted out the tables closer to the stage.
I saw a friend of mine, a woman named Karen, at a table right up front. There were two empty chairs at the table. Score! I went over, exchanged pleasantries, and asked if the seats were taken.
"Nope," she said. "Please, join us." So we did.
We settled in and the band began to play.
Now, a word about Karen. Lovely person. I adore her. She is sweet, friendly, gregarious, funny, and chatty.
Very chatty.
Extremely chatty.
If "Chatty" were an Olympic event, she would win Gold every time out. She is relentlessly chatty, to the point where you wonder if perhaps she might do herself an injury, and you want to suggest she take at least one breath somewhere along the line.
It's not usually a problem, because all of her friends - and she has many - recognize this about Karen. So we have a way of passing her around during the run of an evening. That way, we can all share in the rich rewards of her chattiness. "Your turn!" we say to the next person. And we tag off, like wrestlers.
That works in party situations. But in a crowded concert venue, when there are only two seats, and you are right beside her? There is no tag off. You are it. Period.
But it would be fine, I told myself. The band was playing, the music was wonderful. And I looked over at Karen and realized she was chatting to me.
I smiled and leaned towards her. "Sweetie, I'm sorry," I said. "I can see your lips moving, so I know you're talking to me. But when the band plays, my hearing can't filter out the background sounds, so I quite literally cannot hear what you are saying."
She nodded and turned back to the stage.
Now, in point of fact, what I had said to Karen was the God's honest truth. I can't pick out sounds when a band is playing, particularly human voices. And to be more specific, female voices. It's why I can honestly state that I have never ever once hear my wife say, "Are you sure you need another?"
So I thought the matter was dealt with. until the very next song began and Karen turned to me. She started yakking up a storm, and I just shrugged and pointed to my ears. "Can't hear. Sorry." She turned back.
When the next song started she turned to me again. This was getting tedious. I said, "Really, Karen. I wasn't kidding. I really, physically, cannot hear a word you are saying. None. At all. Nothing. Nada. Bupkis. Zip. You might as well be lipsynching to whatever the band is playing." She swivelled back to face the stage.
The fourth time she turned and started yammering on, my patience wore too thin and actually ripped.
"Karen. Seriously! I have a cat that learns faster than you! I can't hear. Please stop talking."
Karen look positively stricken. Without another word (small victories) she turned back to watch the performers onstage.
Seeing the look in the poor woman's face, I felt terrible. It was the holiday season. Could I not find resources within myself to give me patience, forbearance, good cheer? I resolved to apologize during the break between songs.
Which turned out to be the end of the set. The applause died down, people began to move around the room, and Karen turned to me, sympathy in her eyes.
Karen: "You were saying ... you have a catheter in?"
Me: (blink).
I was stunned. I couldn't even begin to parse out what was wrong with that question. I just wanted to say, "Yes, Karen. A catheter. This, of all times and places, is where I have chosen to reveal my serious and somewhat embarrassing medical condition.So there you have it. Sit beside me at a concert and turn to talk to me, you never know what you will get back. It may be idle banter, it may be meaningless chit-chat. Or you may find out something about me you didn't know and never wanted to hear.
The choice is yours. If I were you, I would just enjoy the music.
