There I was, setting up shop on a cold Wednesday evening. The sun was setting and the temperature was following suite. I have a terrible secret to confess. I have become somewhat of a bigot. Let me explain. In the two years I have been doing this, I can count on one hand the number of tips I have received from people from Asia. I have been told that their culture considers tipping to be an insult. It has become a source of irritation with me to the point that it has affected how I view them. Just seeing them reach for their cameras throws me into an internal tirade. I want to just stop playing and turn so they cannot photograph me. So it was on this Wednesday evening.
Unfortunately, it was to be a long night. There was a convention in town and people from all of Asia were converging on Salt Lake City. As I played I watched them. They traveled in packs, huge groups. As they passed, they would smile, wave, motion that they wanted to take pictures, and various other things, but not one penny found it's way into my pot.
My resentment is not totally without foundation. You see, I am a street performer. If I don't play, they don't pay, its as simple as that. Therefore, time spent posing for pictures is time that I don't get paid. I normally don't mind, but for some reason, these people gang up on me. I allow one photo and it turns quickly into two, then three and soon I am doing nothing but posing for photo's while my pipes sit idle. Not a good thing. After taking their photos, this crowd smiles, waves and then walks away without so much as a dime for my trouble.
By now you the reader are probably incensed with my callous disregard for racial tolerance. "Where's your charity?" you ask. Well, let me continue. I played the pipes for four hours and went home with a big goose egg, nada, Zippo. I got skunked. Needless to say I was fairly discouraged at this point. Fast forward now to Thursday of the same week.
I was heading to work, dreading the same encounters with the oriental contingent on the streets. I could feel my blood begin to boil, and I began to think of ways to avoid these visitors. Then, a small voice in my head said,
"Who are you hurting with this negative attitude?"
I looked around but saw no one. Then the voice came again.
"It's me, your inner self. So, answer the question!"
"Uh, well... Uh, what was the question again?"
"Hmmmm... Bob! Who are you hurting with your misplaced anger?"
I thought about that for a few moments. It was a very good question. I certainly did not feel happy or excited about going to work, whereas I normally was elated to play my pipes. I answered in a timid thought,
"Well, I guess only myself."
"Bingo!"
I began to realize that the problem was not with our friends from other lands, but with myself. I was trying to place the blame on them, when in reality, I was at fault. It was I who had failed to elicit the proper response from the foreigners. That voice again sounded in my head,
"You fool, you speak Korean don't you? Aren't over half of these people from Korea?"
I felt stupid as I answered the voice in my head with an affirmative response. That was it, of course. Right then and there I learned a very important lesson, one essential to anyone desiring to be a successful street performer. The first part of the lesson was to do your homework. It was crucial to understand your audience and what will peak their interest. The second part of the lesson was attitude. I had to do a complete reversal of how I viewed these people. If I replaced the hatred with tolerance, and maybe even friendship, things might change. Oh, they probably wouldn't change, but I would at least enjoy the experience and life would be better. I resolved to make that change. I would use my ability to speak Korean to break through the shields of anonymity.
I was excited to try my new idea. I set up shop in front of the Salt Palace Convention Center. I tuned the pipes and began to play. Sure enough, three lovely Korean women approached me and in their broken English let me know they would like a photo. In the best Korean I could manage I explained that I would love to take a picture with them, but that it would cost 1$ per photo. To my astonishment, they simply nodded and became extremely excited with my ability to speak their language. I made three bucks in three minutes, but more importantly, I made three friends who went away happier than when they first met me. My change was working.
The next night was another chance to test my theory. It was Friday, and the streets were teeming with people. I was across from the Energy Solutions Arena, in downtown Salt Lake. I met the most amazing gentleman who turned out to be a bus driver for the Korean folk. He was very gracious and loved the sound of my pipes (just the right thing to say to an old Scottish Piper). He had noticed that not many of his people were helping me or even stopping. He slowly walked over to me with a tender smile on his face. He leaned in toward me as though he were sharing a national secret and whispered,
"You know, if you play "Arirang" you will have almost every Korean on the street stopping to pay you money."
He gave me a wink and a smile as he walked back to his bus. I could have hugged him, why didn't I think of that? Arirang is the national song that they play every morning over the loudspeakers in Korea. They love that tune. I walked back over to my new friend and said,
"I don't remember how it goes."
He gave me a knowing smile and in his beautiful voice he began to sing the song for me. I sang it with him and it all came back. I bowed and thanked him. It took a few tries, but I eventually was able to play the simple tune and the effect was amazing. It was like finally finding the secret key to a secret door. The crowd of people began to cheer, some sang along, others just smiled and threw money into my orange pot. Crowds gathered as I played and I stopped to talk with them. I sang another Korean folk song out loud, The Mountain Rabbit. I was on a role.
The more amazing change was in how I felt toward these people. What was once anger and resentment had now changed. I felt love and respect for them. They were as I remembered them, gentle, loving and willing to give. They laughed and smiled and I had the time of my life. The moral of this long tale? If you find yourself low on money and long on irritation, try to make a change. Reverse your attitude and you will increase your altitude. At least that is what I discovered.
