The Mirror Tells No Lies: A Tale of Fiction
I graduated from the Berklee School of Music. I play the guitar like a renewed Ace Frehley. I'm growing my hair out to be taken seriously.
L.A. is a tough town. Not easy to catch a break. I'm working at a record store now, but this is just temporary. I'm bound to meet people who need a session player. It could happen any day. I'm good. I'm that good.
So the people I work with are clueless. They listen to crap like pop and hip hop. I can't stand that noise. Whenever I ask to play something good like KISS, I get sent off like a child. I'm older than a lot of the people I work with and they get so much more respect than I do. I'll take it for now, but I'm getting tired of it. My break will come. It will come here. I will be here for it and rub it in their faces.
I don't have any friends here. I get picked on a lot. My Ace Frehley hair is coming in real nice, but it is a little dry and frizzy. I was never blessed with a good head of hair. Genetics. It doesn't help that in my mid-20s, I'm noticing a receding hairline. The cap I wear will buy me some time, I think. No one notices because no one notices me. Unless they need some grunt work done like cleaning out the toilet after an overflow. Seriously? But I have to because I have to be here to be seen and, hopefully, heard. See what I would do for you, Music? Clean up poop!
I work with a lot of young girls. I think most of them like me. They're sweet, especially when they need something done. I'm happy to oblige. I'm building up points for when they're drunk and I can sneak a pass at them. Anyone, really. There is one that is especially protected by the guys here. She has a boyfriend, but I don't care. There will be a time to make a move. And it won't be awkward because I'm not awkward. It was awkward to mention how not awkward I am so I don't know what that means.
My favorite job at the store is watching people - so they don't steal. I watch with great intensity. I want their lives. I want to be married to a hot chick and rip on my guitar on stage. I want people to want me and not to haul trash outside.
I saw Richard Marx the other day. He was buying some Elvis records. He saw me and I knew he knew I was like him. He pretended not to notice as I approached to talk about the biz. I was about to start when one of the managers offered to take him in the back to check out the other Elvis stuff we had. The manager gave me a nasty stare and my chance was lost.
I found an excuse to go into the back. I know that if he heard me talk, he'd know he would have to hear my music. I give off a real pro-vibe. But he was surrounded by more managers and the owners talking about how awesome Elvis was. The constant evil eye meant I needed to be back up front.
So many chances like that happen. So this one wasn't "it" but "it" is coming.
Several weeks later, he was fired for insubordination and theft. I've not heard from him since.
L.A. is a tough town. Not easy to catch a break. I'm working at a record store now, but this is just temporary. I'm bound to meet people who need a session player. It could happen any day. I'm good. I'm that good.
So the people I work with are clueless. They listen to crap like pop and hip hop. I can't stand that noise. Whenever I ask to play something good like KISS, I get sent off like a child. I'm older than a lot of the people I work with and they get so much more respect than I do. I'll take it for now, but I'm getting tired of it. My break will come. It will come here. I will be here for it and rub it in their faces.
I don't have any friends here. I get picked on a lot. My Ace Frehley hair is coming in real nice, but it is a little dry and frizzy. I was never blessed with a good head of hair. Genetics. It doesn't help that in my mid-20s, I'm noticing a receding hairline. The cap I wear will buy me some time, I think. No one notices because no one notices me. Unless they need some grunt work done like cleaning out the toilet after an overflow. Seriously? But I have to because I have to be here to be seen and, hopefully, heard. See what I would do for you, Music? Clean up poop!
I work with a lot of young girls. I think most of them like me. They're sweet, especially when they need something done. I'm happy to oblige. I'm building up points for when they're drunk and I can sneak a pass at them. Anyone, really. There is one that is especially protected by the guys here. She has a boyfriend, but I don't care. There will be a time to make a move. And it won't be awkward because I'm not awkward. It was awkward to mention how not awkward I am so I don't know what that means.
My favorite job at the store is watching people - so they don't steal. I watch with great intensity. I want their lives. I want to be married to a hot chick and rip on my guitar on stage. I want people to want me and not to haul trash outside.
I saw Richard Marx the other day. He was buying some Elvis records. He saw me and I knew he knew I was like him. He pretended not to notice as I approached to talk about the biz. I was about to start when one of the managers offered to take him in the back to check out the other Elvis stuff we had. The manager gave me a nasty stare and my chance was lost.
I found an excuse to go into the back. I know that if he heard me talk, he'd know he would have to hear my music. I give off a real pro-vibe. But he was surrounded by more managers and the owners talking about how awesome Elvis was. The constant evil eye meant I needed to be back up front.
So many chances like that happen. So this one wasn't "it" but "it" is coming.
Several weeks later, he was fired for insubordination and theft. I've not heard from him since.
posted by Cee in SF at 11:03 AM
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