I met Jack White today.

Sunday, October 4th 2009.  Austin, TX

We were looking for Mucinex and shoes.  

My sister had a cold, or allergies, or whatever causes the need for Mucinex.  CVS looked promising, so we stopped.  She also wanted a pair of shoes, something that would survive the mud pit known as Zilker Park, host of the ACL Music Festival.  CVS didn’t have any shoes (no knock-off Crocs).

“I’m going to Buffalo Exchange across the street to find shoes.  I didn’t want to wear knock-off Crocs anyway.

 Rather than watch my sister agonize over shoes, I headed two stores down into Antone’s Records.  

I walked in, no one else in the store besides the clerk, and some old blues record was playing, and it reminded me of this part in “It Might Get Loud” where Jack White talks about his favorite song, this old blues song by Son House, a song about a man in a world of pain. I thought Jack White would like Antone’s.

The first thing I do in any record store is head to the Neil Young section.  Finally, I found Harvest.

“We don’t have these very long,” the clerk said, a girl my age.

I walked out.  Then it happened.

 His back was turned to me, but the scarecrow black hair, the long-sleeved black shirt, and the rest of The Dead Weather standing around a big white van in the parking lot were enough clues for me to conclude that the man in front of me was…

Jack White.

He turned around and looked right at me on his way into the store.

“I’m really looking forward to your set today,” I said.

“Thanks.” (Jack White pauses, extends hand, I shake it)

“And the movie was really good.”

(Jack White raises his eyebrows, smiles and walks through the door)

The door closed, and I walked over to Buffalo Exchange to find my sister was at the front of a long line with a nice pair of shoes.  I didn’t notice the shoes at the time, I just walked up and said, “I just met Jack White over at Antone’s.”

“Really?”

“I met Jack White today” was a phrase I uttered once every half hour or so for the rest of the day.  Watching The Dead Weather perform five hours later, I thought, “there’s Jack White, and I met him today.”  

I stood in the crowd, and people all around me talked about how talented he was.  

“I met him today.  He’s a nice guy.”

I didn’t get a picture with him or run back in the store and buy a Dead Weather album and ask the band for autographs.  I didn’t ask Jack White for recommendations in the blues section, and no,  I didn’t give him a Runaway Sun sticker or invite him to our album release party- which is this Saturday, by the way, at