The Gift

I think a flyer was handed out through my town:



ATTENTION ALL BITCHES, BASTARDS, MIDDLE AGED MEN
IN THE THROES OF HORMONAL ONSLAUGHTS, AND PHLEGM
FILLED, FAT, ACNE FACED, DEPRESSED ADOLESCENTS !!!



BEEJ WILL BE WORKING AT THE LITTLE BOOKSTORE
AROUND THE CORNER BETWEEN 9AM AND 5PM. THIS
IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO GO AND FACE THE CHALLENGE
OF TRYING TO MAKE HER CRY. PLEASE ARRIVE EARLY AS
WE ARE CERTAIN THAT THERE WILL BE A LARGE GROUP
OF PARTICIPANTS.

THANK YOU AND GOOD LUCK!!




Okay. first of all let me assure you, I refuse to cry. I do not care if you stick me with pins, kill my cat, spit in my face or love and then leave me, you will not make me cry. I have been close on several occasions during which I bite down hard on the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying.

But I came close yesterday.

I swear, they handed that flyer out to every nasty person within a 50 mile radius. I got them all. If it wasn't the pimply faced fat boy, nauseating me with phlegm sucking sounds, asking me to look up a half dozen books that haven't even been released yet while a line begins to snake through the aisles, then it was either the fat faced middle aged/elderly males hitting on me, or the women with rods up their youknowwhats, acting superior and snooty and downright insulting.

My last customer of the day almost won the contest. I was on the brink of tears by the time she left. It had become a contest; the nastier she became, the lovelier I became. She would hurl a hurtful comment as if it were a javelin and I would respond with a "Well, you have a blessed day, ma'am." I did this to piss her off. Big mistake, because it worked.

After dealing with her, I went outside to lick my wounds. Suddenly, I hear a lot of noise in the parking lot, and there are a half dozen or so young men and one lovely young woman walking toward me. the guys each have a musical instrument, mostly guitars but also one drum. I think it was a bongo, but I don't really know.

Anyway, they come up to me.

"Want to hear a song?" one asks.

"No." I say. I do not need this right now. I think to myself.

"Yes you do! Whats your favorite color."

"I don't answer for a second but then tell them, "pink."

They laugh and slap one another on the back.

"Our band is called Pink for President!" one tells me.

I ask them where they are from but they insist they are local. (It's obvious to me they are not.)

They set down in a semi circle around me. Next thing I know, they are playing and singing this to me:



So there I am, all by myself, surrounded by a group of young men who are singing to me while a young pretty girl is taking photos, and I can't help myself, I am smiling and then laughing and tapping time with my toes and dancing where I'm sitting. And you know what? They were good! In fact, they were GREAT! They had no idea that I had suffered through 8 hours of torment by a bunch of miserable bastards. And, at that point, either did I!

After they finished, I stood up and applauded and they gave me a group hug.

"What's your name?" one asked.

"Beej." I tell them.

"Cool name!" they agree.

"Y'all HAVE to be professional. "I say. "Are you playing around here?"

"yep, we're playing at Herman's on January 27th. Can you come?

"Will you dedicate a set to me?"

"You got it!"

"Theres a $10 cover charge." one warns me.

"I can handle it." I say and then I thank them and bid them goodbye.

$10 is nothing compared to what they gave me.


Here are 'my boys.'


putting together the studio.