The Art of the Gig

If you are going to make money on the mean streets of America you have to learn "The Art of the Gig". Really, it is more about how to survive the thing as much as anything else. Take one of my more recent money making opportunities.

It was a dark and stormy night, one of those nights that makes you wish you were curled up in front of a nice cozy fire. The wind howled and the dark forbidding clouds lurked near, poised to make a relatively peaceful night a real disaster. The event was a long awaited "lady GaGa" concert. Lady who? You gotta be kidding me.

As I walked toward the throng of waiting fans, I felt as though I walked onto the set of the Twilight Zone. All that was missing was Rod "What's his name" guy. I groaned within myself, "Great, this should be a wonderful evening."

It is impossible for the tongue to describe the bizarre stream of humanity that came flowing past me as I walked to my favorite spot. It was as if the world had lost all the mirrors. Seriously, It only takes a minute people, take a quick peek in the mirror, if it looks wrong it probably is.

It was horrible. I'm walking along and there are two female things barely dressed. One of them had a slight weight problem. Don't get me wrong, I understand the battle of the bulge, it's just, well... is it really necessary to show us how the battle is progressing? She wore these tights that were black and nothing else. It looked like someone had just painted her obese body black. I felt a lurch in my stomach as I had a horrid gag reflex. She gave me a perverted wink as if to say,
"Oh ya, I got it goin' on!"
"You should put something on", I thought to myself. One after another they came, each as lurid and bizarre as the next. The only thing positive about the experience was that, for once, I was not the center of attention in my Kilt and other attire. I actually felt as though I belonged, which did little to settle my upset stomach.

The air was violated by the constant barrage of "music" from a couple of stations in front of the arena. Well, one thing I learned long ago, never try to play the pipes in competition of that kind of drone. It only irritates the patrons and they won't give you a dime. I decided to pass on playing at the beginning of the concert and try for the end exodus of fans. (Fast Forwarding to 9:00 P.M.)

I have learned a small trick. It has to do with knowing when to show up at the event so you aren't stuck waiting for hours for the thing to get over. I called the Event Arena and said,
"Hi, I need to pick my son up after the concert. Could you tell me when it is over?"
The lady on the other end of the phone responded,
"Well it was supposed to end at 11:00 P.M., but they are delayed. I'd come by about 11:30."

I thanked her and proceeded to get a little bit of shut eye in my truck. That is another crucial tip. Find a great parking garage and set up your vehicle as your rolling office. I have a '96 Ford Bronco that is nice and roomy. with the front seats slid forward, it feels like a small apartment in there. I made an impromptu pillow, turned on the classical music station, and closed my eyes. When I awoke, the clock read 10:15 P.M. Whew, that's cutting it a little close, I thought.

I got ready and raced to the Events Arena. It was 34 degrees and raining lightly. The dark looming clouds had made good on their threat and were now making life a living hell. Great, I love playing in the rain. It's just like Scotland! I finally reached my spot and set my show in motion. I set up the suitcase that would hold my millions, took out the pipes and got them tuned. Just in time, here they come. Oh no, here they come. I had a knot in the pit of my stomach. It was like the circus was in town and had let out early. This must have been the freak show. I saw a man in nothing but a black jock strap and a towel draped over his shoulder. There was a woman with shorts so short it looked as if she had simply taken a roll of duct tape and wrapped it around her waist once.

On the plus side, these guys were so high on Ecstasy and other crap that they were in a happy mood and willing to share. My case began to fill with green slips of paper with the pictures of Benjamin Franklin, Jackson, and Washington. Praise the lord for wild concerts. Hey, it's a living.

Next installment: "Surviving the Redneck Comedy Tour"