Surviving the Redneck Comedy Tour

Ok, so I have been pursuing this street piping thing for about eight months now and I have learned alot. Valuable things like, Don't wear only one pair of underwear when the temperature dips down to below freezing. Also, Ive learned that you can't make money when there aren't any people on the streets. So as I prepared to play for the Redneck Comedy tour, I felt fairly confident. After all, these were good ole boys right? I mean, what true backwoods boy doesn't love the pipes? Well I have again been blessed with a new learning experience. Apparently, there are multiple levels of Redneck-ocity. Or as President Bush would say, Redneck-ification.

So, in an ongoing effort to make a public contribution and to edify the general masses I present the Dummy's Guide to Rednecks. If you are a Redneck reading this and some how understand it enough to become offended, then I congratulate you. Ok, so here are my findings presented as the various categories of Rednecks.

1. The Wannabe Redneck - Generally, these are younger people who somehow missed the whole point to being a redneck. They are the ones who walk around in boots that look as if they belonged to Liberace (He's an old entertainer from Las Vegas, google him). They are over the top as far as being obnoxious. I'll give you an example. I began warming up for the end of the show as the mass of humanity would come streaming toward me, and along came three young men. Evidently, they felt my presence offensive because they began talking loudly about how they hated the pipes and bagpipers in general. Then one decided to be brave and came strutting toward me. As he grew closer, he held out what looked like money at first. I was in the middle of playing a tune so he stopped in front of me just holding out this offering. It turned out to be his old ticket stub.

Oh, what a crushing blow! I looked at him and said, "What's that?" He replied, "It's a ticket to the show!" I said, "Wow, Thanks but your about two hours too late. Buzz off!" Then to show my insult had no affect, he slowly walked around me with his gaze fixed on my pipes. I just started laughing. I mean, the scene was so comical I couldn't help it. He walked off like some conquering hero. You see, Wanna Be Rednecks have no clue when they are making themselves look absolutely stupid. Later, as the crowds were coming past, they began yelling obscenities and screaming how stupid I was, as if all the other people would suddenly agree and join in.

Their efforts had the opposite effect. The people flooded to my side in droves to put money in my case. I was actually quite grateful to the fools and I told them so. As they walked by me at the end I shouted, "Hey guys, Thanks for the motivation. If it weren't for you I might not have made half as much out here. Let's do it again sometime!" They simply gave me the California Wave and walked off.

2. The Closet Redneck - These folks are really true Rednecks but they are a wee bit shy. You'll know them because they will be wearing cowboy boots with designer jeans and a tommy Hillfiger shirt. They also have a stylish dew and a businesslike gate. The women dress similar but are given away by their Gucci bag and their bling. I don't mind these folks, heck I say if you cain't beat em, join em. That is the motto of the Closet Redneck.

The folks I met were generally appreciative of the pipes. I do wish some of them were a bit more graced in the social skills. As I was finishing up and walking back to my car, I spotted two couples I had talked with earlier. They were great folks from Wyoming. Imagine, rednecks from Wyoming, That's kind of rare isn't it? Anyway, I thought it might be fun to walk with them and chat a bit, so I hastened my pace. Boy, I wish I hadn't. As I neared the group, I saw one of the women squatting next to a large tree. Evidently, nature was calling and she just couldn't hold it in. I arrived just in time to see two fat cheeks sneaking back into the safety of their restraining underwear.

I tried to act as if I hadn't noticed, but I don't think they cared anyway. These folks definitely belonged at this concert. Well done!

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"