Sunday, June 19, 2016

And Not Worry About Money For A Change

15 Dollar Saturday
Sunday Off In Algiers

I am going to see Howard and to watch game 7 of the NBA playoffs with him, after I check on my plants by the river. I am getting a 24 hour bus pass...

Last night, I made 15 bucks busking for about 2 hours...

The last half hour I played minus the third "g" string on the guitar; this was a good musical exercise, as I was actually able to rearrange songs on the fly to take advantage of, or work around, the missing string.

It is time for new strings.

The night started off inauspiciously after I had gotten to the Family Dollar at 9:55 PM to get batteries for my spotlight, and found that they had closed at least 5 minutes early.

This meant that I had to go to Sydneys Beer and Wine and Cigar store on Decatur Street and pay French Quarter prices ($4.40 for 4) for batteries, which I did.

I got to the Lilly Pad to discover a couple of tourists sitting on the stoop. "Good thing you're not (skeezers)" I told them.

The brand new batteries seemed to be dead after I put them in my spotlight and no amount of giggling or re-seating them or insuring that the polarity was correct produced any light out of the thing at all.

Someone must have taken the good batteries out of the little box and replaced them with dead ones, I thought. I managed to make it through the night with the old batteries.

This morning, I put the "brand new" Duracell batteries in the spotlight after having tested them by running a guitar string across them; which instantly produced smoke (the oil and dead skin cells from my having played the string -yuck) which told me that they had been good all along and I must have just not whacked the thing hard enough to have made a connection.

I took back all the words that I had planned for Scotty, the bearded assistant manager (or whatever he is) at Sydney's whom I knew was going to revel in telling me that "once batteries leave the store, we can refund them."

I had bought them about 10 minutes before the store was to close, and by the time I had determined them to be dead at the Lilly Pad, the store was already closed.

"Good luck trying to bring batteries back the next day (without a receipt) and convince them that they had been dead out of the package the night before but that you couldn't get back to the store befoe it closed," I said out loud to the couple who were sitting on the stoop.

"Yeah," rejoined the guy.

They tipped me a couple of the 15 bucks that I would make on a Saturday night. This was somewhat short of my record of $213.83 for playing 3 and a half hours at the Lilly Pad.

It is Gay Pride week, and gays don't generally tip; seeming to be of the opinion that they should be the recipient of tips (for being "fabulous") not the donors.

There are also a lot of gay skeezers -ones who come here absolutely broke but get into the company of like-minded men (who are fabulously rich because they hold lucrative jobs where they can look fabulous and make great money selling poodles to like minded men)  and basically free load the whole week.

I now go to visit Howard, and not worry about money for a change.

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