What the Shondell is Going On? My Night With Tommy James

Despite day long thunderstorms, we were on our way - two cars on the interstate being tossed about by the wind like a 15th century sailing ship.  And like those old vessels, we had a quest too. Our goal was to relive a part of our youth by attending a Tommy James and the Shondells concert. We had planned carefully. Tickets were purchased months ago. Playlists had been sent to one another.  Our little convoy convened about two hours before the concert for a meal at a Buffalo Wild Wings, followed by a short drive to the venue. Even though there were eleven of us, all we were going to order was wings, burgers, sodas and beers - basic fare for a place like this. They should be able should be able to handle our group with no problem. We arrived and were seated at 5:40. The plan seemed to be airtight. 

I felt good about the arrangements. “What could possibly go wrong,” I thought. Inadvertently, I had just violated a Joe Hobby Fundamental Law Of Life: never, ever say,”what could possibly go wrong?” Because something will. 

In this case a undermanned waitstaff and a slow kitchen threw a major monkey wrench in our plans.  We told the waitress that we were going to a concert and had an hour and twenty minutes, tops.  She smiled a waitress kind of smile and said,  We’ll do the best we can.” Translation, “You probably should’ve gone to McDonald’s.” 

I knew there was bad mojo when it took about 15 minutes to get our drinks.  At one point all of us thought our waitress had either quit, died, or been sucked through a dimensional time warp.  I wish she would’ve gone back in time about 15 minutes and got my iced tea.  To quote a Tommy James song, “I think we’re alone now.”

By 6:40, with no food in sight, and a waitress who was apparently a ninja, group panic began to set in. Someone said, “If I miss ‘Crystal Blue Persuasion’ because of a few buffalo wings, I’m going to flip this table over.”  Oh, wait - I said that.   

Finally at 6:53, but who’s counting - food began to arrive; well, sort of. Not everyone got food at the same time, and those who did had entrees with different temperatures. It was obvious some of our meals sat out until it was nearly cold. My french fries were so hard they could’ve punctured a radial tire. And I ordered 10 wings – unfortunately, I only had one paper napkin. So I opened the little wet towelette packets on the table in order to avoid wiping my hands on my pants. That was on the waitress, who wasn’t going to get as much Mony Mony as she hoped for.  We snarfed down our vittles like lions over an antelope, and after a flurry of credit cards, ran out of there. It probably resembled jailbreak in khakis. I drove like I was a detective in a car chase from a ‘70’s TV show.

We finally caught a break. Both vehicles found parking spots close to the entrance.  My watch said 7:14.  Everyone was all smiles - it looked like we were going to be on time!

By 7:22 our group had peed (we are in our seventies, after all), hit the concession stand, found our seats, and were almost breathing normally. 

Miraculously, we hadn’t missed a thing. In a few moments Tommy James sauntered on stage, opened with Draggin’ The Line, and then to everyone’s delight, went right into Crystal Blue Persuasion. For the next two hours, we heard great stories along with the unmistakable sound of the Shondells echoing in the air. The problems in the restaurant were distant memories. We sang along, danced in our seats, and time-traveled to a simpler era - when the music was loud, and we had more hair. 

It wasn’t a perfect night by any means.  But for eleven friends and one sacred band from the ‘60s, it was magic - well worth all the Hanky Panky.