Best Wishes to the Women at the SoKol…

The waiter at PF Chang’s was high on life or something. (College daze, college daze, it is fun to be in the college daze.) He loved Omaha; for him, it equaled his hometown of San Francisco. In fact, there were some great bands around the town, and if I wanted, he recommended I check out this benefit concert tonight with five great local artists.

“What’s the benefit for?”

“Survivors or something like that.”

I admit I was thinking hurricane or tornado survivors. Despite, it being a school night the thought of seeing some bands appealed to me more than another night in the hotel watching NBA playoffs. (I can’t stand basketball, but sadly it beats the droll on most of TV.)

I went to the great event location of the SoKol Underground. (It was my first SoKol experience and needless to say it is now one of my favorite venue’s. The place hasn’t been decorated since the 70s, but that just adds to its hipness. A huge floor below the stage is adjoined to a room with a bar, equally enormous standing area and couches.) I paid my ten bucks, and glanced around.

A number of the women were wearing buttons with blue ribbons on them. I explained, to the lady selling the tickets, I was just in town for business and was wondering what the benefit was for.

“Survivors of rape.”

“Great, thanks.” Walking away with thoughts of: what the hell do I say. We are used to supporting those who natural disasters touched or have been affected by cancer or even AIDS. But rape is something different-something much more underground and behind the curtain.

I got a beer and found a folding chair in the corner. Sitting by myself, I tried to blend in. Eventually, two ladies sat down next to me and the show started.

The first guy Chris Glover, from the band named Glover, was awesome. With just an acoustic guitar, he had the crowd laughing and cheering as he described getting DWI, being a guy (working out, farting and drinking) and the always humorous being a complete and total underachiever.

The next band sucked, and their name isn’t recallable. Maybe, that is a good thing.

Most of the time, I sat in silence; occasionally, I dropped a line to young ladies about what the name of the band was or why I was there. A guy sitting by himself at a rape survivor concert looks just weird.
I left after the second band. It was a school night, and I had an early class. Though it was a little awkward to be there, I commend the ladies for coming out and saying that being a victim of rape will not end their life. I was happy to support them in any way I could.