When our drummer ran downstairs last night at the practice space to grab some water, I asked if he would pick up a folding chair, too. He said when he came back that there was a new person manning the desk, a youngish woman, who gave him attitude and insisted that they don't have folding chairs, even though I've been getting one from the equipment room for years.
Anyway, a couple of hours later, we were paying our bill and checking out with the regular guy we know, a shredder metal guitarist who's close to my age. The new girl was sitting on the ground behind him. She's maybe 20. She sneers when she looks at me. I'm assuming this is because I'm an ancient fat guy instead of the regular clientele. Then she says to me, "It's really not cool to wear your own band shirt." I look down at my vintage Guided By Voices tee, not getting it at first. She says, sneering even more now, "Someone needed to tell you."
I get it all of the sudden. "Really? Why is that so uncool?," I ask her. Now she stands up, and she looks so full of contempt and pity that I almost laugh, but I'm playing it close, so I don't. I exchange a look with the shredder guy. "That's, like...," she starts. "He wasn't in Guided By Voices," the shredder says, quietly and firmly. She looks at him. She looks at me. "What?," she says.
"GBV rocked," the guy says. "If he'd been in GBV, I'd comp his damn room and get you to take a picture of me with him. But he wasn't in GBV. He's just wearing a GBV shirt."
She looks insecure now, maybe a little embarrassed. I think she should be embarrassed, so I don't talk to her. "Shame they broke up," I say to him. "Yep," he says, "I was at their last Stubb's show. Pollard's a fucking genius."
He hands me my receipt.
Oh, Corwood.
t facepalm
The ignorance, it burns. That's even worse than the kids tuning into House after American Idol and asking, "What's that 'teenage wasteland' song?"
Oh Corwood. Those hipsters, with their attitudes and complicated hair.
I remember going to shows and wondering who those 30-something oldsters were, and when they were going to get a life. And now I'm one of them. (Of course, I don't go to shows much at all anymore. They start too friggin' late. )
I loved it, really. I would have strung her out further if the shredder dude hadn't intervened. I mean, I was a little embarrassed for her, but y'know, I'm not the only old fat guy who practices there. Maybe she'll be a little less of an asshole to the next one.
Well, she deserved something after actually thinking it was appropriate to snark on what you were wearing as if you, a musician, are too foolish to know some stupid rule about your own band's t-shirts. Also, BANTER!
Ha! I knew you'd catch that.
I guess I get extra irritated by pretentious baby hipsters because I know plenty of people her age who don't make me feel like a lame creep for going to shows with them, so obviously it's possible for Kids Today not to be ignorant asshats.
I guess I also have to come to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be hip again.
That's a mythic tale for the ages -- with, like, twenty different morals, all excellent and deeply needed. I just copied it and emailed it to Hec in his little no-b.org-access cubicle at work, because it's just too good to make him wait until tonight.
I'm still not clear on why she thought you were in GBV, Corwood. Do you look like somebody in the band? (I know what you look like, but not what they do.) What a weird leap to make. If you'd had a Stones shirt on would she have assumed you were one of the not-Mick/not-Keith members of the band? And she's clearly not in a band if she thinks you shouldn't wear your own shirt. It's called promotion. Advertising. Wear that Parks and Wildlife shirt, my friend! Too proud to pimp your own gig? Find a new line of work.
Did anyone send juliebird the Buffistarawk info?
