All That Jazz

My friend and broker Victoria invited Wifey and I to see a jazz show at the new concert hall at the Arscht Center. We had plans to have dinner with her and another friend/client named Wendy, and then, alas, D1 came home as a surprise.

The restaurant we chose, Il Gabbiano, was one D1 was dying to try, so instead of 4 for dinner, it was 7: D2 and her friend Michael joined us as well. The food was delicious, and we all had a real good time. We left the younger guests at the restaurant, and Victoria gave Wifey and me our tickets, and went ahead with Wendy. We were to meet at the seats. Not so fast!

Wifey and I arrived at the concert hall, and were impressed. It's a gorgeous facility, that's supposed to have near perfect accoustics. We handed our tickets to the snooty usher, who, annoyingly said we'd have to wait for "applause" to enter, and then we waited for clearance. It was not to be.

Another usher, a 70 something Jewish appearing lady, rushed over to report that our tickets were no good. She had with her an usher who was clearly a former NFL lineman --black, about 6 5, and probably 350 lbs. He politely asked me to go over to the box office.

I did, and the agent asked me, accusatorily, where I bought the tickets. I told her I didn't --they were given to me from a Merrill Lynch broker, who got them from Bank of America.

"Oh --the BOA tix were returned!" the woman shrieked --"they're no good!"

While this was going on, the overweight, 30 something butch usher told Wifey she couldn't wait where she was --without a ticket!

By now, we felt about as welcome as Al Quada at a B'Nai Brith luncheon. We wanted to just leave.

The truth is, neither Wifey and I really even like jazz that much. I mean, it's ok music to have on the background on a Sunday while you read the papers, but we don't like it enough to go to a concert, usually. And, especially THIS kind of jazz --there were 2 groups, one of which was "The Manhattan Transfer." We can only take so much "doo waa, doo waa" before it becomes annoying. But, we like Victoria a lot, and figured it would be fun and different. The night was turning out very different.

I went back to the usher, and asked them to go summon Victoria, since I was due to give her a ride home, and I wasn't about to leave Wendy to do it, since Wendy lives in Lighthouse Point --the other way. The usher snapped "I'll go in at the break --about 40 minutes!"

At this point, I became a tad more perturbed (Wifey says livid) and demanded a manager. Jose came over, was very accommodating, and offered me free drinks while this was sorted out. I didn't WANT drinks --just to get word to Victoria.

Jose complied, and Victoria and Wendy came out. Victoria was embarrassed, of course. If I had been some big shot client she was trying to impress, this would have been a catastrophe.

Next thing I knew, we were being led upstairs to a "box" that was behind and above the band. It was a cool vantage point, but we essentially had views of everyone's buttocks. Plus, the vaunted accoustics didn't seem to be designed for audience members to the rear of the performers.

Wendy left mid way through the Transfer, and we followed suit shortly afterwards. We had had enough of the muffled "Doo Waas, Doo waas..."

We passed the nasty Jewish lady, who said "After all that, and we found you a special box, you're LEAVING????!!!!'

Yes, I replied, "we got tired of looking at tucheses."

So, in the car on the way home, the three of us laughed, and I'm sure Victoria will be able to get a refund of her $500 she paid for the tickets.

For me, jazz will be best left to background. And, I think it will be a long while before I head back to the Knight Concert Hall and its nasty ushers, despite manager Jose's offers to "make it up to me."

Unless of course someone I really want to see is playing there...