Sweaty Black Men in Tuxes

Buck was participating in a charity sporting event in his former hometown. Now if you actually met Buck in person you might think that he doesn’t look very athletic (and it’s true, he doesn’t), but that just serves to put his opponents off their guard. Nobody ever expects Buck to have speed or grace, but on the field of battle he has both (well, not speed, per se, but certainly quickness. Buck is like a sports car that goes from 0 to 60 in 4.0 seconds, but only has a top speed of 62 and suffers frequent engine and chassis breakdowns). Unfortunately, this particular sporting event was a Bowl-a-Thon, and Buck was nursing a right-shoulder rotator cuff impingement and tendonitis in his right arm so bad he could barely tie his own shoes. In short, Buck was in no position to handle a bowling ball. Instead he passed out t-shirts and door prizes.

As he was passing out the goodies he came upon an old friend, a girl he had attended training with when he’d joined The Inc. Buck had recently received word that Girl had become engaged to Boy. Boy also worked for The Inc., and was bowling nearby. They would go on to make a lovely couple.

Buck had recently joined an alternative pop-rock musical act based in another town in the same region. He hadn’t had many shows with them yet and was eager to kick it into high gear. He saw a quick opportunity for easy money and exposure for the band in a new market. So he asked Girl if she needed a band for her wedding.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” she replied. “What kind of music do you play?”

“Danceable pop rock covers,” he summarized. They covered everything from Goo Goo Dolls, Train, and Counting Crows to Bryan Adams and The Stray Cats.

She seemed excited about the idea, but told Buck to ask Boy, because he was arranging the band. Since Buck was on good footing with Boy he was optimistic about his chances of landing the gig. Little did he know that he was about to be the victim of racial discrimination for the first time in his life.

He spoke to Boy and told him straight up that he had a new band and would like to offer up their services at his wedding for a bargain basement price. For his part Boy seemed genuinely interested: after all, people normally pay through the nose for a wedding band. Who wouldn’t want to pay a quarter of the normal price? Plus someone he knew and trusted would be on the inside, within the band, which would allow for some control over the situation if the music wasn’t just so. But then, with dead earnestness, he dropped the bomb.

"Are you sweaty black men in tuxes?" he asked.

The question caught Buck completely off guard. "Huh?"

Boy rephrased his question. "Are any members of your band sweaty black men in tuxes?"

"Um...no. White guys only. Alternative pop-rock and dance music." Buck felt like a broken record. Hadn’t he covered this ground already?

"Dance music? That's good. We want good dance music. Tell me about your horn section."

Buck saw where this was going, even admired the man for the high standards he was setting. He could tell that Boy hadn’t been playing him. Boy truly had assumed that Buck played music in a large ensemble with black men. That's what serious musicians did, right? Buck went through the motions and answered, "Well, we don't really have a horn section. We're four white guys: two guitars, a bass and drums."

“No tuxes?”

“No tuxes.”

"Sequins?"

"None. "

"Buck,” Boy lamented in a tone of sincerest regret, “I hope you understand it’s nothing personal. I’m sure your band is great. But this is my wedding, a once in a lifetime shot, and I intend to have nothing less than a band of sweaty black men in black or purple tuxes with sequins. A negro band with a brass section is an absolute must, and they have to have synchronized dance moves on stage."

Buck, always a gentle soul and easily brainwashed by PC agents, was a little taken aback by the gratuitous use of the word “negro.” However, he had to admit that bands such as the one Boy described truly were perfect for formal celebrations, certainly better than four white guys covering white music. What really bummed him out, though, was that while he knew he was good enough to play in such a band and had even played successfully in blues and funk ventures in the past, he didn’t quite have what it takes to join a band of sweaty black men in tuxes. True, he was sweaty and he could rent a tuxedo. He could play all the right notes at the right times, with a convincing approximation of African-American rhythm. Hell, he could even throw in the synchronized moves. But that would only take him so far.