Rain makes it hard to look for work. I try to do as much as possible through social media sites but, still, around here, club owners and restauranteurs want a face to face with local artists.
And, to my mind, especially when I’m getting tired of making the rounds, tired of too many maybes, worn out from countin’ change coz the pointer on my car’s gas gauge is touchin’ the top of the thin white line corresponding to the letter E signifyin’ I’m bout to be “stopped dead in the middle of traffic,” sometimes it seems that these business folk get the biggest kick outta my old man grovelin’ routine.
And, I’ve got it pat down perfect. I exaggerate my limp, I tilt my Memphis brim and I slow down my talk.
I’m southern hospitable and say, even to assistant managers 30 years my junior, “Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am.”
I am gracious and act like this whole “book me for one show and you won’t be sorry” routine pleases me almost as much as it does them.
Hell, some start laughing the second they see me. They know they’re in for a show. One Big Shot slapped me on the shoulder the other day and said, “Man, I only hired you to play coz I couldn’t justify my payin’ you just to drop by and see me every week. The way you beg and pander just tickles the hell outta me. It’s way more better than that Bourbon Street music of yours.”
What can I say? I take what I can get. And I’m gonna get it anyway I can.
Just as soon as the rain stops.