Cabaret seating–one of those awkward solo social situations

Finding a seat when you’re not one of the cool kids

Oh no, I thought as I walked into the dimly lit studio theater. Instead of tiered rows of seats, the room was set up like a cocktail lounge with little tables surrounded by four chairs each and a bar in the corner. It was the perfect setup for couples and groups of friends but not for one woman alone.

I knew this smaller theater at the Newport Performing Arts Center did not have assigned seats. I figured I’d arrive early, claim a seat toward the back on the side and hope to get along with whoever sat beside me.

I did not expect this.

Which is worse, to invite myself to sit at someone’s table or to sit at a table alone hoping someone joins me?

There were no empty tables.

I had come to watch my neighbor and friend, Kathy Redwine, perform with her Nashville bandmates in The Red Wine Effect, an alt-country group that performs wonderful original songs. They had toured and written together for years before a family situation caused Kathy to return home to Oregon with her daughter. Now they were combining Kathy’s Oregon and Tennessee bands for a big show.

When I returned from my trip to Arizona and New Mexico, the show was already sold out. Kathy found one seat for me.

I looked around, expecting to see someone I knew. It’s a small town. Who were all these people? Where was I going to sit?

Finally, way in the back, I saw the husband of Kathy’s bandmate Holly Brogunier. We had met briefly in Kathy’s driveway. I headed that way. Maybe there was a friends-of-the-band table.

“Is there a seat for me?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, scooting over.

I confessed I had forgotten his name. Carl. We chatted. He talked about the years the band toured the country, homeschooling their kids along the way. He told the story of how he met Holly through her music. He was a big kind man who clearly adored his talented singer-songwriter wife.

I started to relax.

Shortly before the show began, Carl was called to help with something backstage and yielded the table to a couple who looked vaguely familiar. Eventually we figured out I had interviewed them over 20 years ago for a local newspaper. They didn’t know anything about the band. A friend had recommended they come. As the lights darkened, the friend joined our table. She never acknowledged my existence.

Never mind. The band was incredible. The show was fun, beautiful, and inspiring. The harmonies, oh Lord, so good. Kathy glowed with happiness, singing and playing with her old and new bandmates. After years of playing at restaurants and festivals for walking, talking, barely-paying-attention audiences, they had a show at the most prestigious venue in the area for people who loved them.

It was one of those special times that come rarely in a lifetime. An Academy Award moment. I have had a few: book launches, special concerts, my second wedding. Times when I knew my whole life had led to this perfect moment of happiness and recognition by the people who loved me.

I haven’t had any lately, but I have had them, so I am blessed.

Have you had such moments?

At intermission, I visited the restroom, bought a CD, and wandered around the lobby looking at pictures before returning to my seat.

During the second half, things got dicey for me. I have a condition called restless leg syndrome (formally known as Willis-Ekbom Disease) that makes sitting through concerts, movies, classes, or anything else challenging. Despite the medication I take for it that helps most of the time, it doesn’t always work. Shortly into the second half, my left leg started twitching and kicking involuntarily. Moving around is the only thing that helps. I looked around and found a space against the back wall to stand.

Strangers don’t know this about me, and I can’t really explain it in the middle of a show. I knew people wondered what I was doing back there, but I have spent a lot of years standing in the back of theaters and meeting rooms. I’m grateful I found a space. The only other option would have been to leave. The music was so good, and I wanted to enjoy every note.

I returned to my seat for the final song. Then it was over. I said goodbye to my tablemates, got a huge hug from Kathy, and walked out to my car, grateful for fresh air and the freedom to move again.

That was Friday. It was a musical weekend. I played piano and sang at church on Saturday. On Sunday, I played guitar and sang at the Cafe Chill open mic. Having become a regular, I shared a table with other performers who have become friends.

A choir I used to sing in was giving a concert on Sunday. I considered going. I knew the music would be fabulous. But I would be sitting among strangers again, praying my legs stayed still for another two hours. No. I went home, took my guitar out to the deck and entertained myself, the robins, and the neighbor’s calico cat. It was good.

I have a lot of history in that studio theater where Kathy’s band played. I have performed on that stage, too, alone and with others. I have attended literary readings there. I even caught Covid there at the last show I attended, when the seats were still in rows.

Now they have Cabaret seating. It’s trendy, I suppose. Handy if they want to sell drinks or food. The chairs are extremely comfortable. But it’s daunting for an attendee who shows up alone.

In retrospect, I could have invited a friend and bought tickets early. But I didn’t know tickets would sell out so quickly. Silly me. This band, The Red Wine Effect, is good.

This reminds me of the birthday party where I expected people to come and go, mingling around the bar and maybe sharing some cake. I arrived a little late and found everyone at a sit-down dinner. They squeezed me in, but the people on either side of me talked only to each other, and I was soooo uncomfortable.

I have just started reading a memoir that I can’t wait to share with you. Leaving Home at 83 by Sandra Butler begins with her giving up her home in California to live in a senior residence near her daughters in Arizona. When she comes to the dining room for dinner, she finds all the tables occupied. When she asks about empty chairs, people tell her the seats are reserved for their friends.

She ends up eating alone in her room. I suspect she finds a better solution in the next few pages, but it’s the whole high school cafeteria nightmare. If you don’t belong to the right clique, where do you eat your lunch?

Have you walked into situations where everyone is grouped up and you’re alone? How do you handle it?

Random thought: Have you ever eaten alone in your car? I have. It’s private, comfortable, and there’s no embarrassment.

Let’s talk about it.

The image above was AI generated, but the words here are and will always be generated by me.

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Mother’s Day is this weekend. Why am I already being bombarded about this holiday with emails, social media posts, commercials, and even snail mail ads? My mom is gone, and I am not a mother or grandmother. Leave me alone!

Gee, I thought I got over being angry about it. Best wishes to all the moms, but I will be pretending it’s just another Sunday. How about you?

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