Sometimes I think I’m a funny guy. I’m a tool, but I’m a sharp little tool. This has gotten me in trouble many times. There are plenty of people in this town, I am sure, who think that I am a less than nice guy because I said something that I truly thought would be “witty” and it was perceived as cruel, heartless, sadistic and possibly legally actionable.
This is not only in the realm of verbal faux pas.
I am terrible with names. That is why we named our dog “Brick,” because for some reason I have no trouble remembering building materials.
So when I am at a party or industry function I am often perceived as shy or aloof. It is because I live in deadly fear that someone is going to come up to me and strike up a conversation and my face will give me away.
“You have NO idea who I am, do you?”
“No”
“Some brother YOU are.”
When people DO try to engage me in conversation, I never look directly into their eyes. They will see the panic in mine. These could be people I have worked with, made money with, dated… and in the heat of the moment their names cannot be recalled in that porous gelatinous mass I laughingly refer to as my “brain.”
But it’s my fabulous wit that gets me in the most trouble. Especially on this Itraweb thingy the kids are so crazy about. That is because, as I have lamented many times before, there is no sarcasm font. I did a tour many years ago playing with my dear friend, the amazing Don Henry. My nickname on the tour quickly became “Sarcasmo.”
Then it just as quickly became “That guy we left behind in Chattanooga.”
Here is a perfect example of how me thinking I’m Red Skelton backfired.
I was on stage at the Bluebird doing my show with my band. A beautiful girl was sitting at the front table with some guy… a pretty obvious “first date” situation. She ordered the plate with veggies and brie. I notice these things because I generally am hungry when I play. She was not eating because she probably was afraid to make any noise being up so close to the stage in a “shhhh” environment.
We started a song and I watched as she finally broke down and picked up a piece and took a bite.
Here’s what I thought would be funny. I stopped the song and in front of everyone, looked at her and said, “Enjoying that, are we?”
She could have thrown her drink in my face. She could have run out of the club wailing. No. I had picked on the wrong gal.
She played the long revenge game.
She waited fifteen years…
And then she married me.