The Cloyce serenade

I'm not against music. Honest, I'm not. But my tastes are limited (give me Johnny Cash over Lady Yada or Masta Rappa Thugface any day) and I think there's a time and a place for it. After maybe having the radio on, our old Shop is not ever the time or place. Especially for live music.

One day as I was working alone in the old barn an old family friend, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, appeared. He helped himself to a cup of coffee and we chatted as I fixed cables.

A little while later a plumber came in. I'll call her Anne, which is not her real name, because she may not care for this memory. Anne was one of the few women plumbers at the time, which was around 35 years ago. Anyway, I stopped what I was doing to do a quick repair on the drain machine she had  brought in. She and I and Cloyce chit chatted.

Cloyce asked if Anne liked music. She warily answered yes. "Well, I play a little bit," Cloyce responded. He went to car and brought back his guitar. And he began, there's no other way to say it, serenading Anne.

Anne was clearly embarrassed by the attention. I was embarrassed for her. She looked at me with an awkward smile, the kind of smile which asks, 'what's all this then?' very emphatically. I sheepishly half smiled in return and kind of shrugged my shoulders. Making it a point by then to hurry up the repair, I soon had Anne's machine done. Cloyce strummed his guitar, staring longingly at Anne the whole while.

I don't think she was more glad to leave the old barn that day than ever. I know I was never, no offense to you of course Anne, more glad to see her leave. And I doubt to this day Cloyce even realizes how weird the whole thing was.

We thankfully did not lose Anne as a customer. Though I would not have held it against her.