Dale Joins a Band

At my age, life is a series of routines. I go to work. I come home. I have dinner with my family. I help with homework. We go on a vacation now and then. There are very few surprises. A wild night consists of playing cards with the Tiki Gal, Dale and Daphne. Routines. Life is good.

Recently, however, Dale joined a band. Dale is a drummer who happens to work in a non-music related industry, a father, a husband, and a good friend. At heart, though, I think he is a drummer.  Daphne understands this better than anyone. One evening she went to the store and, contrary to her nature, struck up a conversation with the guy behind the cash register.  He said he was a musician in a band. She said her husband was a drummer. The guy behind the cash register said his band was looking for a drummer. Serendipity.

The next thing I know, I'm being carded at the door of a bar that I would never have had reason to visit before Dale joined a band.  The Tiki Gal, Daphne and I spotted Dale on the stage with his drums - the same drums he's had since he was twelve - and I must admit that my eyes grew a little moist. That may have been because of the cigarette smoke, however. That stuff was deadly.

We said hello to Dale and found a table. We were soon approached by the waitress and what we knew of the world was turned upside down in an instant. First of all, the waitress had long, luxurious blond hair that looked a lot like the style once worn by David Coverdale, the lead singer of Whitesnake.  She was well built for a lady of her age although I think at least a couple of body parts may have actually been a gift from David Coverdale. She was wearing tight jeans and a pink tube top that defied gravity. That tube top spent the entire evening at exactly the tipping point where any stray breeze could have sent it plummeting from orbit. I was torn about my preference in the matter.

Next, we had to order drinks. As regular readers will already know, Dale and I are proud beer snobs and this bar was definitely looking like a beer swill sort of place. I don't know what I would have done if Dale hadn't pointed out that Stella Artois was available. The girls didn't have it so easy, however. We've learned that waitresses tend to look at you funny if you order a Squeezy Squeezy or a Curious George and this place definitely didn't have a drink menu. Therefore, Daphne pipes up and orders a Merlot. Pretty in Pink, the waitress, looked a little confused and said, "I think we might be out." The Tiki Gal quickly whispered, "You're going to get our asses kicked. You don't order wine in a place like this." They settled for rum and Coke. Routine was taking serious damage already.

Pretty in Pink swayed by with our drinks so we sorted through the pile of cardboard coasters on the table to avoid marring the tabletops. We were not that surprised to find a coaster advertising a bail bonds company. This is called directed marketing, I think. A couple of other couples had arrived to listen to Dale's debut and the female halves of these couples thought it would be funny to not mention to their husbands that: a) Dale was playing in the band they were going to see, and b) that the band would be playing in a bar. It was funny all right. One of the guys showed up wearing an argyle sweater vest, for goodness sake. He wouldn't have been more out of place if he had worn nothing but a pair of chaps and a cowboy hat. Actually, he might have fit in better that way.

It was time for the band to start so Dale took his place on the stage. And just like that, I was friends with a professional musician. The band played a mix of classic rock, old country, new country and even threw in a Jack Johnson song. All of it sounded really good. Really, really good. They added just a little edge to each of the songs and made them their own. Our fellow bar patrons initially were fairly indifferent to the music being made. They continued playing pool, flirting with unattractive members of the opposite sex, and drinking. By the second song, however, people had moved toward the stage and were paying attention. By the end of the first set, most everyone was into the music. Except the guys with the mullets. They were busy practicing their pool shark skills. They needed a lot of practice - and new haircuts.

Meanwhile, the Tiki Gal and Daphne were complaining about their rum and Cokes. Apparently, the bar didn't use the highest quality of rum. After some debate over the next drink choice, it was decided that Daphne and the Tiki Gal would have a beer. Not a beer to share. A beer each. I picked my jaw up off the floor, kept my eyes up, and ordered Stellas from Pretty in Pink. For Daphne and the Tiki Gal. Beer.

I admit that I was thinking it would be a failed experiment and I would end up finishing the four-fifths of their beers that they couldn't choke down. Not only did they finish their beers, they ordered another. And they finished that one too. The girls are beer drinkers.  Routine, shattered. The Mayans might be right after all.

The first set ended and Dale joined us at the table. Daphne and the Tiki Gal made sure to point out that adding the other three band members ages together got close to Dale's age. You can always count on them to be supportive. Dale simply said, "I used to carpool with the guitarist's grandma." Then Dale walked away. Not only is he a great drummer, he gets all the best lines.

The second set contained more great music. The crowd was really into it now and even tried to dance on a dance floor roughly the size of a phone booth. We began to notice the flirting and seduction more as the night went on. The Tiki Gal said she was glad she wasn't single. I have to agree. Pretty in Pink danced. She ran her hands through her hair and kept reaching for a pole that wasn't there. That tube top kept on hanging in there. It deserves a prize.

Before long, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find an older lady wearing a lot of makeup holding a hideous wicker basket filled with stuffed animals and fake roses for sale. Is this what romance has devolved to? Does buying a girl an artificial flower really ever work for those guys? Based on what I saw in that bar, I think they guys should skip the fake flowers and pour more money into buying the ladies drinks. Beer gogles were essential equipment.

Dale joined us again after the second set and I could tell he was having fun. He was a drummer in his element. We were having fun too. We listened to good music. We spent time with friends. We saw things we will never unsee. Some of us became beer drinkers and I would do it all again in a second.

Since we are old, we didn't stay until the band was done. As the Tiki Gal, Daphne and I drove home we discussed how beer makes you thirsty. We also talked about that last bitter swallow in the bottom of the bottle. Surreal. Maybe a new routine is what we all needed without even knowing it.