My Worst Day Ever

My worst day, or worst couple of hours in the subway occurred about a week before this past Christmas. Lisa and I tried to get Redline Park Street spot, but our talented friend John, the classical guitar player, had beaten us there and expert fingerpicker, Michael Sullivan, had the spot for the remainder of the evening.

John suggested that we try upstairs at the Park Street Green Line spot. Unfortunately, the Park Street elevator was broken so we had to carry our 200 pounds of equipment up the stairs, while dodging hundreds of rush hour commuters scrambling to their connections. We set up upstairs and it was impossible to hear yourself think. The problem with playing the Green line is that there are always trains coming in or out because there are five different trains and there are three different tracks at that spot. It reminded me of living next to Route nine as a child as noisy trucks and cars came wizzing by.

We tried playing for about 15 minutes but no one could make out any of our lyrics and it was like we were not there. One guy got into us and asked if we played the Middle East or places like that and we gave him a gig card. A Berklee student came by and we immediately gave her the spot. She quickly set up all of her equipment next to us as we dismantled and took our stuff to Downtown Crossing to try our luck there.

Lisa went to get some food and make a phone call, and right when I set up I was immediately hassled by an MBTA employee. He complained that I did not have an MBTA ID around my kneck. This week it had been near freezing temperatures and I could not fit an ID around my kneck because like him, I had on a thick jacket and a scarf, and it was impossible for this little badge to fit around this. He went on to tell me that it wasn't placed well in my case, and the whole point of the badges is for us to wear them so they know that we're not terrorists or something like that.

(As a side note, I just read in the Boston Globe that in New Mexico, legislation is being passed that strippers must also wear ID badges. Do they think that strippers could also be terrorists? Or do city officials want an easier time of getting strippers contact info for private parties? Now they can get their real names and numbers, cuz before they would try to look up Amber or Star and get the wrong one? Subway musician and stripper badges, what's next? At least we are in good company.)

When Lisa got back, I was like this day sucks and I want to go home. She wanted to wait it out another hour to see if it would get better. The month before we had had some amazing days at this spot when the Red Sox had won the world series, and we were hoping with the Christmas spirit and all that it would still be good. I had been playing an hour by myself at this point and did not have that much to show for it.

I'm playing Simple Twist of Fate, and Lisa is eating a slice of pizza, and all of a sudden these three teenagers proceed to huddle around the case and check out the CD's. All of a sudden like synchronized swimmers, they simultaneously dive into the case, scoop up all of our money and run.

This was the last straw. Lisa was starting to agree with me at this point that the spot was not working out that well. I felt bad for these kids, because their pranks will probably get more and more serious until they could be shuffled through the US prison system, and it all started off robbing someone singing a Dylan song. To add insult to injury, they continued to tell me how much I sucked as they ran away.

(Atleast they didn't try to steal a song. I read in the Globe yesterday that an 83 year old dead woman was being sued by record companies for millions of dollars for illegally trading hundreds of pop and rap songs on her computer. It was later found that she did not like rap or pop and neither had nor knew how to use a computer, though the record companies did not drop the charges until they found out she was dead.)

A nice guy on the platform gave me a ten dollar bill after this happenned and urged me to quickly put it away before it gets stolen. Lisa and I start packing up. A man with a cowboy hat is getting off a train and walks towards us as Lisa is emptying the case and putting away the stuff. He has over 4 feet between us and the yellow line to walk by but instead decides to stop and glare at us.

"Get out of my way!" he yells at us. "You guys are blocking the platform." As he walks away I proceed to do what any good citizen would do at this point: give him the bird. It's funny how so many days are so great in the subway, but every once in a while you can have this day that is so bad that it is almost surreal. Maybe somewhere in this tragedy is the birth of comedy : )