Wally’s Cafe Jazz Club in Boston is one of my all time favorite places. Located a few blocks from Berklee College of Music, there is never a shortage of top notch musicians playing any night of the week. Every time I’ve been, I’ve always left inspired, and determined to practice the drums more (sadly, it never helped…)

Back in the days BT (before television) the hour long pilgrimage to Wally’s was a weekly event. We’d meet up early, around seven or so, grab dinner, then drive up to Boston. Parking was a little tricky, but sometimes we’d get lucky and find a spot right on Massachusetts Ave. Other times we’d have to squeeze into some alley blocks away and hike over. It never mattered, as long as we went.

Wally’s is the definition of a ‘hole-in-the-wall’ club. Space is VERY limited, and it usually fills up fast. As long as we were in the club by 9PM, we could almost always get a table. Once the band started ripping, it didn’t matter how crowded it was, everyone had a great time.

Last night my friend Stu and I decided to make the trip once again. We got a late start, and didn’t make it to Beantown until after 10:30. Not a good way to begin the night. However, I managed to score an excellent parking spot almost right next to the front door. Things were looking up.

There was a line of about fifteen people waiting to get in. We could hear the band playing whenever the door opened, but since nobody was actually leaving the club, the line wasn’t moving. After about fifteen minutes standing on the sidewalk in the freezing cold, it was pretty obvious that we weren’t going to get in anytime soon, if at all. We decided to find someplace to warm up, and maybe come back later on to see if the line had moved at all.

When I got back to the Jeep, I saw an offensively bright orange official Boston Police parking ticket on my windshield. Apparently, my sweet parking space was reserved for people that actually live on Mass Ave. (Nevermind that the sign that should have been attached to the pole was missing, I still got a ticket, because I guess I just should have known better than to presume it was OK to park in an available parking space.)

Those evil little meter maid douchebags must work 24 hour shifts, probably living in the nearby sewers like the rats they are, making millions for the shitty city of Boston. It cost me $40 to park for fifteen minutes, and we never even made it into the club.

However, thanks to those industrious meter maid rats, Boston has made it into the exclusive GFY club. Congratulations!

Author: frenchy