Christmas with a Guy Who Might Play Trombone

I’ve often pondered on the idea that I might have come from a different planet. Gradually but persistently, the evidence has been building for years. Once in awhile, there’s a brief moment in which it all becomes painfully clear. One such moment occurred vaguely during the Christmas season some years ago in the equally vaguely named Sears-Willis Tower. I try not to play these jobs. Jobbing gigs. Ten musicians. No charts. Stand fronts anyway. Four singers. Wireless headset microphones. Two keyboards. One keyboard player. Bass player with folding stool. Hot chick on violin for some reason. Route 66. TV screen that tells you the next song. No musicianal eye contact. No names. Nowhere to escape. Good bread, though. And there’s this trombonist. You could have ordered a Build-Your-Own Jobber kit out of the Willis Catalog and ended up with this guy. I wish I could say I’ve never seen anything like it, but there are drones like this creeping around all over the country. There used to be more, but I suspect the Swing Craze Purge of 2001 wiped most of them out. The uniform was, of course, tuxedo. He had black sneakers, stretchy waist belted pants from Kohl’s, a yellowed white tux shirt, a plastic Timex wristwatch facing inwards, a reach-around clip-on bowtie, and a blank face. I had finally met The Archetype. Figuring this guy was human, I told him a joke. I was wrong. He responde