Every few days a new programming announcement from the local Blues Society would pop up in my email box , taunting me and reminding me how much I enjoyed the music and the space when Jessica and I went to the Lafeyette Tap Room the summer before last.
They had power during the East Coast blackout and we sat at the bar watching TV coverage about how most everyone else couldn't watch TV.
It's in an old building with high ceilings, funky woodwork and the warm vibe that comes with over a century of activity.
At least that's the way I remember it...
It was going to become my place to be when I moved back to Buffalo, my other office. I thought about it often.
So last night when the after office happy hour dissolved (I just didn't see myself heading to a speed dating singles mingle with the girls), I went back to my room bored and inspired by a couple of cosmopolitans.
It was only 8 p.m. and when I opened my email to see another band at the Lafeyette Tap Room, it was time to go. I changed into jeans, a sweater, winter shoes and my down parka and called for a cab.
Not a lot of people take cabs in Buffalo. It was nine dollars for a ride that would have been $4 in the city. Ten dollars cover was more than I expected for an unknown band, but now that I had twenty bucks sunk into this experience I was determined to enjoy it.
I walked into the club, took of my coat, took a seat at the bar... and put my coat back on.
It was 3 degrees outside and possibly double digits indoors. Suddenly the high ceilings and large open spaces I remembered went from charming to cavernous. The opening act, on a stage by the door in front of a large window played a few numbers quickly, got off stage and back to their coats.
The headliners got there early but kept their coats on and seemed to be in constant circulation around the room trying to stay warm with movement before going on stage. I ordered a salad that redefined iceberg lettuce and waited... and waited. Listened to talk around me about factory shifts and the Sabres season being lost. Zipped my coat up. And waited.
The band finally was OK, but I was tired and cold. I tried to remember the symtoms of hypothermia and was pretty sure one of them was confusion.
I was just a block from Main St., so thought I might cut cab fare by taking the train to Allentown and catching a cab from there. I pulled up the snorkel of my jacket, planted my hands in my pockets and headed out.
There was no one at the train platform and no schedules or trains I could see. There is no automobile traffic allowed in stretch Main St, only the absent trains. It was 11 p.m. and I was the only person in the area. This entire stretch of downtown , temporarily, belonged exclusively to me. It was like a scene in one of those bad "survivor" movies.
My legs, fortified only with jeans, grew colder and colder as I stood and waited. Eventually it made more sense to walk to Chippewa, a nearby club strip, where I could surely find a cab. By the time I found my ride, my legs, from the bottom of my jacket to the top of my socks were stinging.
I had cut my fare back to $5, but picked up a mild case of frostbite in the process.
I stripped down at the apartment and drew a bath, the stinging part of my legs looked like sunburn and felt even worse as I eased them into the water.
By this morning they were only pink. If I feel like listening to blues tonight, I'll put on a CD.


Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs