June 25, 2024
He kept furrowing his brow. He’d look at the Identification Document (short for ID) and then back at the young lady. The bouncer at Candle Club in Wichita, Kansas wasn’t sure, but the photo didn’t look like the young lady standing before him. But then that didn’t make a lot of sense either. How could someone have an identification document that didn’t match their IRL face?
“Move along.” the bouncer muttered. The young lady ran into the club.
It was sometime in the 1950s. And the young lady was doing what everybody in Wichita was doing — going to see The Kansas Gastronomist and the Hipsters perform live. It was a one song set and it was so worth it. So worth it.
“I can’t wait to see The Kansas Gastronomist! He’s so dreamy!!” the young lady shouted to her friend Kevin as she took a drag of her recently lit menthol. “I’ve heard he has the voice of an angel. Like a combination of Fergie and Jesus!!!!” she screamed out.
“Oh really? Well…maybe he’d be interested in going to Hollywood?” Kevin responded. “Maybe I could be his manager and then after many years in Hollywood, him and I could continue to be friends and he could live in his future brother-in-law’s basement and he could do food reviews mostly, but on occasion post about dogs and maybe even be snarky on occasion to various news sources that post things like ‘Happy Birthday’ to no-name celebrities????”
“Hmm. That’s oddly specific.” the young lady replied. “But that sounds good, Kevin. And maybe he’ll want to date me. That would just be so swinging’ and swell.”
“Ain’t a chance in hell, Gertie. Ain’t a chance in hell.” Kevin answered as the lights dimmed and The Kansas Gastronomist came on stage.
— TKG
It’s been a long time since I’d been to The Candle Club. What an interesting place, right? I wonder how many deals over the years have happened in that spot? I don’t know. I’ve never been a member. But it is most definitely a part of the history of the city of Wichita.
