Paraskavedekatriaphobia Indeed
 by Cliff Garber  ·  16 October 2006

Around 8:10 on Friday the 13th, I was relaxing on a folding chair near the entrance to the me & thee coffeehouse. I am a member of the house crew and had reached a lull in my duties. The stage was all set up. The sound check was done. Neal and Leandra had retired to the green room to get ready for the concert. My most pressing issue now was trying to decide if I wanted a brownie during the first set or at the intermission.

My reverie was interrupted by a question from the ticket seller—a woman had a question. As I walked toward her she said she wanted to write a note to Neal and Leandra to let them know she was “there.” When I heard the word “there,” I was struck with dread, (which is worse than being struck dead because one is still around for the consequences) as I had a flashback to an incident that happened nearly 40 years ago. I was at a Celtics game in the old Garden when a woman sitting next to me asked if I had a pen so she could let one of Seattle’s star players know that she was “there.” Without thinking I gave her my pen and she scribbled out a note. She then managed to attract the attention of one of the ushers and talked him into bringing the note over to the player. I watched as the usher went over and passed the player the note. He read it and was visibly shaken. The game started and it was safe to say that this Sonic’s game never got off the ground. Not only did he fail to score a point but he managed to foul out as well.

We were approaching the center area of the coffeehouse. Horrible thoughts filled my mind. Would Neal be unable to play a note? What would he think? What would Leandra think? I knew that we had a highly trained, highly skilled therapist brought in especially for these Friday the 13th issues in the center room. Perhaps she and I could overpower this woman, push her out the side door and hope she would not be able to find her way back around front. I discarded that idea as I remembered that she is a therapist, not a physical therapist and besides she was busy working at the CD table.

As we entered the center area I heard the woman say that her father had commissioned Neal and Leandra to write a song about her grandfather. The me & thee publicity person overheard that remark and took over. She went back to the green room to tell the performers they had a visitor. They were delighted to hear that the woman was there and took the time to meet with the woman and her friend.

My imaginary crisis was just that—imaginary. The concert ended up going off without a hitch. Neal and Leandra may well have never sounded better. They even performed the commissioned song and explained how it came about. With the crisis averted and my phobia pushed back into the dark recesses of my mind I marched into the kitchen and asked for a brownie, “no wait a minute” I said, “Better make it two.”

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