An Essay On Making Nine Bucks On A Sunday Night
...I got on my bike and cruised towards the Lilly Pad, arriving at the Quartermaster to see that Robert, the amiable white haired man who works there until midnight some nights, was in there behind the counter. This is an indication to me that I have made it there before midnight, at least.
I went in and took one of the three milk crates that were there, myself having left the third one the night before, having found it on Royal Street, which allowed me to shave about five minutes off my arrival time at the Lilly Pad because I didn't have to go and take one of their's.
As long as they have at least one crate to sit on during their breaks, I am alright, so I leave the extra ones that I come across in my travels, to keep them a spare or two in their break area.
As I was leaving, it occurred to me to turn around and be friendly towards Robert.
He has always been such towards me, most notably at times when it seemed that the tide of friendliness was flowing against me, in general. He has always seemed to harbor even a slight bias against me based upon the backpack and guitar that I tote around. He seems to respect my profession, I would say at the least.
When I first started playing at the Lilly Pad and started to frequently arrive at that store in the wee hours of the mornings, not all of their employees didn't frown at me when I walked in, but Robert didn't.
"How're you doing, Robert?"
The old fellow lit up with what seemed like a combination of joy and embarrassment, he said that he was doing well and then uttered the incomplete sentence: "For an old..."
I asked him how old he was, the same way I might ask a cancer patient a pointed question about his malady, knowing that people actually prefer to talk about things that are actually on their minds a lot, and that it is a more ingenuous approach to a person to have an equal concern for a person, a compassion, type of thing...
Robert said that he was 70 years old and then pretty much apologized to me for being so, with a coy gesture and a turning up of the palms of his hands as if to say "I can't help it!"
He has always had snow white hair since I've known him. He looked a little pudgier around the middle than say, a year ago. I don't see him a lot, he usually works the daytime shift. But, I can din from the way that, say, the pedicab drivers address him that he is the French Quarter, to who knows what degree, might have spent all 72 years there. I might ask him about that the next time I see him.
"Well, so ninety year olds must seem like squares to you," I offered in the way of humor and in an effort to remind him that he still might have a lot of life experience left in him.
Robert seemed very happy that I had spoken to him. Had I known that it might cheer him up so, I would have done more than just give him a cursory wave on my way out with a milk crates on previous nights.
So, I got to the Lilly Pad before midnight, when there were hardly any tourists in sight on Bourbon Street.
I played and, in small numbers, they came.
From around the side of Lafitt's they came, having traveled from the direction of Dauphine Street.
From the side streets leading to Royal Street they came, most with one thought in mind: to witness the oldest bar in North America, established in 1772, by Jean Lafitt, the pirate, and his brother, Pierre.
Making 9 dollars off of so few people was a moral victory for me, and I feel like I am taking my playing to the next level.
How many more levels do I have to go before I am jamming alongside Tanya Huang and raking in enough to buy my own house in the country with goats and chickens and a huge garden with kratom trees reaching for the sky?
Not many.
As soon as I become amplified, I will start setting up at her corner at about 10 PM, after having made sure that her spot watchers knew what I was up to.
Then it would be up to me to be in full harmony when Tanya arrived at 11:30 AM, sharp, with hopefully a few people staying an listening.
Then, I would tell Tanya to go ahead and start setting her stuff up, which she would do, which would give her probably 12 minutes to hear what I was playing, and then would give us an opportunity to do a few songs together, and then that would be the next level above the level I'm at...
 |
| I cheat. |
...I got on my bike and cruised towards the Lilly Pad, arriving at the Quartermaster to see that Robert, the amiable white haired man who works there until midnight some nights, was in there behind the counter. This is an indication to me that I have made it there before midnight, at least.
I went in and took one of the three milk crates that were there, myself having left the third one the night before, having found it on Royal Street, which allowed me to shave about five minutes off my arrival time at the Lilly Pad because I didn't have to go and take one of their's.
As long as they have at least one crate to sit on during their breaks, I am alright, so I leave the extra ones that I come across in my travels, to keep them a spare or two in their break area.
As I was leaving, it occurred to me to turn around and be friendly towards Robert.
 |
| Jean Lafitt, pirate |
He has always been such towards me, most notably at times when it seemed that the tide of friendliness was flowing against me, in general. He has always seemed to harbor even a slight bias against me based upon the backpack and guitar that I tote around. He seems to respect my profession, I would say at the least.
When I first started playing at the Lilly Pad and started to frequently arrive at that store in the wee hours of the mornings, not all of their employees didn't frown at me when I walked in, but Robert didn't.
"How're you doing, Robert?"
The old fellow lit up with what seemed like a combination of joy and embarrassment, he said that he was doing well and then uttered the incomplete sentence: "For an old..."
I asked him how old he was, the same way I might ask a cancer patient a pointed question about his malady, knowing that people actually prefer to talk about things that are actually on their minds a lot, and that it is a more ingenuous approach to a person to have an equal concern for a person, a compassion, type of thing...
Robert said that he was 70 years old and then pretty much apologized to me for being so, with a coy gesture and a turning up of the palms of his hands as if to say "I can't help it!"
"Well, so ninety year olds must seem like squares to you," I offered in the way of humor and in an effort to remind him that he still might have a lot of life experience left in him.
Robert seemed very happy that I had spoken to him. Had I known that it might cheer him up so, I would have done more than just give him a cursory wave on my way out with a milk crates on previous nights.
So, I got to the Lilly Pad before midnight, when there were hardly any tourists in sight on Bourbon Street.
I played and, in small numbers, they came.
From around the side of Lafitt's they came, having traveled from the direction of Dauphine Street.
From the side streets leading to Royal Street they came, most with one thought in mind: to witness the oldest bar in North America, established in 1772, by Jean Lafitt, the pirate, and his brother, Pierre.
Making 9 dollars off of so few people was a moral victory for me, and I feel like I am taking my playing to the next level.
How many more levels do I have to go before I am jamming alongside Tanya Huang and raking in enough to buy my own house in the country with goats and chickens and a huge garden with kratom trees reaching for the sky?
Not many.
As soon as I become amplified, I will start setting up at her corner at about 10 PM, after having made sure that her spot watchers knew what I was up to.
Then it would be up to me to be in full harmony when Tanya arrived at 11:30 AM, sharp, with hopefully a few people staying an listening.
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