Between The Covers- Anyone Got a Mint?

by Torch

It was another free concert in the park on a Thursday evening, a typical City of *** gig. People start to unfurl their blankets and pop open their lawn chairs as they make instant living rooms on the grass. Fried chicken and cupcakes are shared between those who really planned for the evening, while others make way to the hot dog stands and snow cones. The stage is temporary and the band makes it through a bit of a rough sound check with the new guy from the sound company. Next to the stage is a table covered with cd’s, t-shirts, and necklaces I make by hand. I am the merch girl.

Now this is a great place to watch people and a hard place to avoid them so interaction is key. It never fails to surprise me how entitled people get with the band at a “FREE” concert. For example, one woman came up to me at the table to request songs for the band to play. Her breath was dripping with the stench of three day old garlic and plaque as she shouted in my face, “Can you ask them to play that one song, you know the one with the magic carpet! I can’t remember who plays it, and maybe something by Credence!” She yelled some other stuff I didn’t catch, as I was so aghast by her breath and jumped back in horror. Now there are several ways do deal with this type of behavior but first all I could think was, (Eat a breath mint for the love of Christ! This is a band, NOT a jukebox! Go home and dig out your 8 tracks! AND if by some chance the band was taking requests, learn the song titles or artists names as they are not here to divine your muddled thoughts!)

What I did say was, “Well you can ask them when they go on break.” Passing the lovely woman with the breath that would turn a windmill in an old Dutch painting, onto the lead singer. (grin) She was not pleased that I didn’t leave the merch, march over to the band, and break into the current song to make her request. She huffed away, wilting the trees, and waited for the break, which to my dismay they didn’t take one. She was back for more sharing of her verbal stench, “They’re not taking a break!” she barked. I told her to write her (oh so important) requests on a sheet of paper and lay it at the leader’s feet on stage so he could see it between songs. She fussed like a three year old and asked ME for a pen and paper. (Lady, what do I look like? Office Effing Depot!)  “No, I am sorry but I don’t have either,” a lie but I just wanted her to go away and stop opening her dental decayed pie hole my way. I watched her stomp back to her lawn chair, hands on hips spatting her drama on her date. She plopped down and glared at me for the rest of the show.

Now I never said what I was thinking as I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut with psychos and drunks. *** Very important skill in the music industry***

Oh but it wasn’t over yet. I watched as a guy stood clutching a beer in one hand and a monitor in the other. He had a bony frame and stringy hair, which he kept whipping around, poised like a dashboard dog off stage right. He was head banging to every song, a    strange thing to see to songs like “Beautiful World” and a reggae infused version of “Clocks”.  I figured he hadn’t had his meds in a very long time; time that he was sure was moving too slowly as he kept trying to get the band to play faster with his fist pumping.  FYI- don’t’ do this people it is annoying to the band and all those around you. Step away from the stage you sad little Guitar Hero wanna be! Ah I digress.

He however wasn’t the worst distraction; it came in the form of a bulging Betty on beer, a LOT of beer. She stood, in her triple extra large pink t-shirt, directly in front of the lead singer yelling “Chicago!!! Play some CHICAGO!!!” This did not go unnoticed and the band, who didn’t know any songs by the band Chicago, however they very kindly played Sweet Home Chicago for blubbering Betty. She was pissed and proceeded to yell “No! Play some Chicago!!” When her demands went unmet she stood fixed before the band, snarling like a menacing mammoth. Her poor sap of a date was dancing with his beloved beer and occasionally she would go over and smack him on the arm and yell something predictable at him, trying to get him to stop having fun. Again her orders went into the wind and she bloomed red and returned to her post of discontent, facing the band.

People, this is a FREE concert NOT your personal i-pod, the band and the people around you don’t owe you a thing. Relax! You’re supposed to be jovial, not pitching a fit for not getting your way, freaky control freaks! Ut oh, my turn again only it was big boy Bob and he wants a t-shirt. Yelling over the band, “You got this in a double or triple X?”  “No, I only have large and extra large.”  He furrowed his brow and I held up the XL showing him the size, which was too small for him, but easily too big for a normal sized human being. “Do you have anything in a double or triple X?” “No, I am sorry sir but this is the biggest size I carry, would you like a CD instead?” I was thinking, “Hang it up on the wall as your skinny shirt, play the CD and you would have a whole weight loss program.” I actually felt sorry for the guy, but with merch you learn quickly you can’t please everyone, wrong size, wrong CD, song being played is not recorded as it is a cover, and no matter how low you price things people still want to bargain. Big Bob didn’t want a CD instead he told me off for not having more sizes, blurted out a few expletives and thumped away.  Okay my feelings of remorse were gone; have a nice day.

The thing that keeps me smiling from the merch booth is the people who showed up instead of watching TV, the people who are dancing with their friends, or teaching their toddlers to dance little feet on top of big. The guys in the band taking solos and having a blast getting the crowd dancing and not letting them go. I love to watch them all; every shape and style coming together celebrating the songs that mark this summer, a picnic, green grass under bare feet, and blue stained lips from slushy icy treats.

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