I am old enough now to have decades of poor judgments to look back on. It started at age 12, when my best friend wanted me to go with her to see some guy playing music in Greenwich Village. We had just watched The Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show and were crazy mad for music. We made the usual plans: I was at her house for the night. She was at mine.
When the day arrived, she was sick, so I said I’d go and tell her all about it. That night, I put extra quarters in my glove and hopped on the crosstown bus. It let me off in front of Washington Square. Nervously, I scurried across the park to MacDougal Street and, “The Café Wha,” where a long, line of people was headed down the stairs to the basement. I followed.
At the bottom was a smoky dungeon with no windows. The crowd noise was deafening. I squeezed my underage self in the back corner trying to be inconspicuous. Suddenly it grew quiet. A disheveled guy with a guitar walked past me and up onto the stage. He looked like he’d worn the same clothes for weeks.
He started singing-- if you could call it that. The words were unintelligible because he mumbled them in an irritating, nasal voice. And I had risked punishment for this guy? When the show ended, I couldn’t get out fast enough. The next day, I told my friend, “Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything. He was awful!!”
Well, Bob Dylan proved me wrong. Years later, while jogging in front of the Plaza Hotel, I ran into Donald Trump. His book, “The Art of the Deal” had just come out. “Oh, Hi,” I smiled, “You’re everywhere!” He didn’t smile back, and his arrogance was palpable. When he ran for President, I said ‘No one in their right mind would vote for him.’
Studies show that 65% of us think we are, ‘smarter than average.’ Statistically, that’s impossible. Clearly, my predictions fall short and it’s not just with famous people. I misjudge ordinary Joe’s, too. Judgment is a tricky thing but it’s also an important one. We need just enough of it to keep from stepping in front of a train but not so much that we’re too afraid to ride it.
P. S. I’m the beatnik above at age 11. ‘I was so much older then. . .
Your opening line, about decades of poor judgment to look back on, just captured my own life.
Delightful to have someone to compare and contrast with about past experiences.