A hostile rumble from outside of my bedroom door snatched me out of the peaceful darkness of a deep sleep, dragging me into the stifling heat of my room flooded with the dust filled glow of the early morning sun pouring through my window. My eyes struggled to shake the pain of adjustment.
“Dude what the fuck did you want me to do?” I hear Rylynn yell. I rolled onto my back and took a deep breath in.
“I want you to pay your rent and stay out of my business!” B yelled.
“Fuck off guys.” I said to myself. I reached above my head and grabbed my first cigarette of the day. Laying there on my hard wood bed I listened to mom and dad fight it out again. This is my second time living with Rylynn, last time I too lost a bunch of money. I love her like a little sister, but she has a history. She doesn’t mean to fuck people like that. I guess it’s like what Forrest Gump said, 'Shit happens'.
I smoked away while their fight went everywhere. Beatie ended the fight with a somewhat curious line.
“Fuck off man, I bet the only reason you supposedly helped me last weekend was to buy some fucking brownie points.’ I sucked in another rich puff off my cigarette. The silence between them seemed almost eternal till Rylynn broke to tension.
“Fuck You.” she said in a quiet quivering voice, then she walked down the hall to her room, followed quickly by Beatie to hers.
“The hell was that about?” I said to myself. I took the opportunity to leave my room and go down the street to grab a coffee. The cease fire left an eerie silence. Rylynn’s sobs muffled by her bedroom door carried throughout the air, the gore left from the battle. I knew this little war wasn’t over, but I also knew there was more going on here than I was aware of.
The night before I decided to park on the street in front of the building. It was Sunday so its legal and besides someone took my spot in the underground. But, wouldn’t you know it as I approached my little black Honda “WHAT THE FUCK!”. The windshield was adorned with a yellow ticket courtesy of a meter maid that can’t read signs. I pulled out the plastic parking ticket from beneath my windshield wiper and looked up at the sign. “IT SAYS IT’S FUCKING FREE TODAY!” I yelled.
To be honest you aren’t a car owner in Toronto unless you have stood road side and screamed at a street sign. I shoved the ticket in my pocket a continued down the street. Muttering to myself like an insane person.
Not to worry though, I have a well rolled joint for a peaceful wake and bake. My nerves began to calm as the tetrahydrocannabinol took hold, lifting me out of my anger, redirecting my focus to the sweet smell of fresh cut grass and squirrels running up trees and playing with each other off the front lawns of buildings and homes.
“Squirrels rock.” I said with a smile. I went to the coffee shop on King and Spencer and on my way back I finally pulled out the parking ticket to read the damage, another thirty bucks. The obnoxiously loud ring of my cell phone startled me as I began my pocket pat down search pattern and almost panicked till locating my little ball and chain.
“Hello?” I said curiously into my shackles.
“Hey, It’s The Legend I need you to work tonight.” he said
Oh, how I wanted a day off, but as I approached my car, I saw yet another yellow ticket sitting there, waving in the wind as if to great me, the cunt.
“Yea-” I tried reply before he cut me off
“Ok, it’s at the shed, 2300, don’t forget your shit.” he said
“O-” I tried to reply again but was cut off by the click of his phone hanging up. “K” I said completing my reply.
***************************************************
I stood backstage at the amphitheater awaiting the end of the show and the frantic load–out that would follow. The whole back stage area of The Shed (amphitheaters nickname) was partially open to the elements. Right beside the big roll up stage door was a four-slot loading dock. To the right of it was a long concrete walkway, a three-foot-high concrete wall topped with a two-and-a-half-inch round steel railing that ran along the top of it. It separated The Shed and the small inlet of Lake Ontario that it was built into.
I leaned against the railing and stared at the twilight of the city's skyline reflecting in the water, as if the lake itself danced to the music pumping from our little shed. To my right the walkway lead down to a small parking lot at the end of it was where the trucks came into. Littered along the length of the walkway were various crew smoking various things.
I shifted my attention to my left; my gaze fell upon the small affluent marina that sat in the water beside the amphitheater. It housed a hand full of multimillion-dollar yachts. As usual the only people I see is a small cleaning crew aboard one of the large boats. In all the years I would work at this venue, I have never seen anyone other than cleaners on board any of these ships, and they never left their slips either.
They got put into the water in spring and pulled out in the fall. I legit think its just a bunch of rich people that want to be able to say they have a boat here. I'm sure it is expensive but it would also suck to be chilling on your boat and have to listen to mostly shit music being blasted from a high-powered sound system in a venue built to project sound. Not exactly peaceful. I figured that’s why you so rarely if ever see people on them.
I turned around and put my back against the railing and looked out at the small groups and cliques talking, laughing, and getting themselves psyched for the impending insanity of the load-out. Surprisingly the stage manager turned and hit the green open button for the garage style stage door, and with a not so quiet hum it rolled up and the pounding hip hop and roar of the crowd flooded our work space.
It was so odd to open that door when the show was in full swing. The early fifty something stage manager turned and walked towards the crew. He has long grey hair and a baseball cap with an old worn band shirt and worn blue jeans, everyone called him doughnut, I had no idea why.
“Ok folks, butt your cigarettes.” He said. “Keep clear of the door for right now, keep a path.”
I threw my smoke away and looked to my closest crew mate “Who’s playing?” I asked
“Drake.” they said
“Cool.” I said. I've never been a big Drake fan. I didn’t dislike him; I just wasn’t overly familiar with his work. It’s been a long, long time since I have listened to pop radio. I noticed a small group of large men making their way down the walkway from the dressing room area just down the walkway toward the loading dock. I pulled out my cigarettes and looked down immediately remembering I wasn’t allowed to talk with my little friend. I gazed down at them longingly for a second before putting them back into my pocket.
I looked up just in time to see the group of men approach the stage door. In the center of them was and older black man with long braided hair and dark sun glasses. I laughed to myself. What idiot wears sun glasses at- I stopped dead in my dumb fucking line of thought.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to the stage a legend.” I heard Drake announce to the adoring audience.
“Holy shit, that’s” I said to myself, before drake finish my words for me.
“Stevie Wonder!” Drake said to thunderous applause. I’ll be honest my brain exploded a little.
It was the first of many highlights of my career. His place on the stage wasn’t far from the stage door, So the whole crew gathered and watched. It was immensely moving to see and hear a master like that at work so intimately. After the show wrapped, we got the whole set dismantled, lighting rig down and out and loaded the trucks in just four hours. As we finished the last truck, Drake came out from the dressing rooms. He had a small entourage with him and he wore a robe, styled like a boxers pre-fight robe.
He got to the edge of the loading dock and looked at his entourage. “Stay here for a minute.” he said. He then made eye contact with me and a crew member I stood beside and walked up to us; his hand out reached.
“Hey man thank you so much for all your hard work.” he said as he shook my hand. To be honest I was really taken off guard.
“Uh, no problem man,” I said.
“Thank all you guys.” he said as he shook everyone's hand. “I really appreciate it.” he continued. “I know none of this happens without you guys pushing to get it built on time.” He shook the hand of every crew member working there that night. A rare, classy as fuck move if you ask me. I understand that a lot of these stars literally can't do something like that for security reasons. I mean you all remember how easily I got this job. There was literally no interview process to put me where I am right now, so a lot of security companies won't allow a celebrity in their care to do something like that. Rarely do they not do something because they are dicks. Generally, like all things, there is a reason, lots of gears turning in this machine.
After another ninety-hour work week I finally had a day off. Thanks to my work schedule I didn’t wake up till damn near fourteen hundred. (2 pm) I have quickly gotten used to twenty-four-hour time. I was fucking starving, so I made my way down to my car parked in the secure parking garage.
As I opened the door to my car the sound echoed throughout the small concrete structure. I looked down at the driver's side floor perplexed by the large round piece of plastic, like a shroud of some sort. My confusion was no longer however, once I looked up at my torn apart steering column. “What the fuck?” I said out loud already knowing the answer to my query, I knew exactly what the fuck.
I put my keys into the heavily damaged ignition, desperate for the car to come to life. “Come on sweet heart.” I begged. With an unceremonious click I had my answer. My car had been killed by a shitty car thief. I felt my anger grow leak a white-hot fire in the pit of my stomach.
“What, The-”
“FUCK!” I yelled as I burst through the door of the apartment.
“What happened?” Beatie asked
“Some fucking asshole, cunt, mother fucker piece of shit tried to steal my car and fucked the ignition!” I said
We called the pigs, sorry, Toronto Police Service, but they didn’t bother to come by. It would be almost six weeks before they called me back. The super of the building was also as useless as wet toilet paper. Fifteen hundred dollars and three days later she was good to go. I felt terrible though, I was forced to ask my parents for help to get it fixed. It brought back all those familiar feelings on.
Again, I went back to feeling like an absolute let down to my family. I was in my late 20’s and broke as fuck, living some silly fantasy about making it in show business. “Fuck.” I realized “I'm a musician again.”
This time I'm playing roadie. This wasn’t my first forte into this biz. I was a struggling musician for years. Like many I had a long list of “Almost made it” stories, and like many I had my heart ache when all those opportunities fell flat for reasons far out of my control. They say that a person's career is a series of peaks and valleys, but in show business, no matter what aspect you work it, there are far more valleys than peaks. But god damn, those peaks though, they sure are seriously high.
Depression had returned and with all of it, a self-loathing I hadn't experienced since becoming a stagehand. For the next two days I sat in my bedroom smoked weed and drank whiskey till I ran out of both. Luckily for me my friendly neighborhood drug dealer was just two doors down the hall, on the left. I went down, knocked on B’s door and placed my regular order.
“One eighth please.” I said with an forced exaggerated smile.
“Have you seen the Muppet movie?” she asked.
What followed was a night that I really needed. You see Beatie has a skill with baking, a gift really. she had made these little chocolate caramel cups. Approximate cannabis concentration: one-gram per cup.
Lucky for us, Kermit the frog and friends where making a comeback in a new Muppet's movie. So, we packed our chocolate and a few dubies, jumped on a street car and headed out. I would have driven but, the thing is eating weed is not the same as smoking it. You see, if I smoke weed in all honesty you probably can't really tell. But, when you eat it, well, there is a quote from Joe Rogan that says it best.
“That shit will make you talk to dolphins.”
I'm in Canada so I guess our version of that joke would be, geese, I guess? Either way the ability to go all Dr. Dolittle on local wild life is likely not the mark of a safe driver.
As we sat in the dimly lit theater, we downed three candies each and quietly cracked the beers we bought on our way there.
“So.” I said, trepidatious to continue “What’s up with you and Rylynn.”
She took a swig from her beer and focused her attention at the frivolous trivia displayed on the pre-show film screen. “Fuck her.” she said.
“That succinctly covers everything.” I said before taking a swig myself.
“Well she owes me a fuck ton of rent and acting like a cunt about it.” she said. I went to speak but was stopped before I started “She has money to go out with her boyfriend but not the fucking rent.” She said as she takes another swig.
“I hear you.” I said meekly “What happened?” I asked
“When?” she asked “I literally just told you.”
“No, I heard you yelling about her trying to get brownie points with you.” I said.
“Oh that.” she said looking deep into the screen. “That was nothing, just a couple of pissed off friends.” she said. I could see the discomfort on her face as we talked about it.
The lights in the theater dimmed and I gave her a sympathetic pat on the leg. We sat in the darkened space and got lost in The Muppets movie. As time passed our high took full hold. I know Kermit says it ain't easy being green but I found it, VERY fucking easy.
By the end of the movie we were both sobbing like babies
“They love you again Kermit.” I proclaimed with tear filled eyes “They love you.”
After we got home, she made me an offer. She had a single bed at her mom's place just north of the city. If I drove us out there to get it, she would let me use it and then who ever rented the room next would have a bed to use. Of Course I would also have to drive her out to her dealers in the middle of nowhere once every couple weeks so she could re supply.
I had been there for over six weeks and the best upgrade I had made to my bed was a yoga mat, you better believe I took that offer.
No comments:
Post a Comment