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Symphony Luck

As I've written before, I seem to be an unusually lucky person. Traditionally this luck ends abruptly whenever women are involved.

Lady Fortuna

To wit, I got dumped on Thursday, but had bought two very good tickets (over $100) to the symphony … for Sunday. Not keen on attending alone, I scrambled to find someone to go with.

I asked three co-workers. Each declined. I appealed to a large mailing list of employees who buy and sell from each other, either to find a companion for the event or to sell the tickets. Not even a nibble. I asked a few non-work friends. No luck there either.

Increasingly desperate, I turned to craigslist, where I got … a nibble! Just one. Naturally, it was a one-liner with a typo:

..I would love to go. What do I need to to to be your guest?

I wrote back to her three hours before the concert, but never heard anything again. I'm accustomed to Oregonians being flakes, but the dissonance between "I would love to go" and then not checking your e-mail was pretty strong.

I went to the symphony alone. Sitting in my seat a few minutes before the start of the program, a girl moves into my row, looking confused.

She didn't know where her seat was. A glance at her ticket revealed that she was in the wrong section. I told her where she was supposed to be, and then added that the seat right next to me was available and she was welcome to it.

She was tall, blonde, a violist, and a senior in high school.

Too young for me, granted, but that's not the point. I didn't want to be at the symphony alone — and I wasn't! I had a lovely girl next to me, of the sort I would be happy to be seen with, and we chatted all through the intermission.

We didn't exchange names and I'll never see her again. We thanked each other for sitting together. What I expected to be a crushingly lonely event turned out to be very pleasant.


Oh, the performance? It was excellent. Vivaldi's Four Seasons played on a Stradivarius by a gorgeous soloist in a green dress who stood for the whole piece.

As she played I counted five broken strands on her bow. According to my violist companion, that was not unusual given the way she was playing. See, I even learned something. :)


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