1. Night Fail
1. Night Fail
At nightfall, on the sidewalk, the waiting line lengthens, dimmed by timid street lamps. The stairs, on the other hand, shine under the precise and studied lighting of the illuminated sign of the establishment to which they belong. At the top of the steps, well-known access doors remain invisible, lost in the haunting twilight of the unattainable. Around me, the artists who make up the impatient crowd chat and laugh about nothing and everything but mostly sing and play, for the most part, the guitars. Very few other instruments are present, obviously. And when a moment of instrumental lull strikes, the typical sound of muffled music takes over. Inside this building, to which we all covet access, the party seems to be in full swing and deep beats.
I’m about to reach my goal. Facing the bouncer, the verdict is final. Thin is the opportunity to enter this atmospheric bar with thick walls and a prestigious clientele. And, to punish myself even more than my waiting time has already done, I dare to ask the reasons for this refusal. First, despite always working hard on my favorite instruments (drums and cajón), I am far from having the necessary mastery to join the greatest. Therefore, I do not have a worldwide notoriety, nor the bank account that comes with it.
Second, I just don’t have the tolerance to the effects of alcohol and drugs, hard or soft, to get access to the menu at this (un)hip restaurant. Finally, the coup de grace came: I am no longer of the required age to enter. Too old by a couple of years, I am told. Already? Damn, how time flies! It is not for a lack of trying with the bouncer. My education comes directly from the first regulars of this place. I was as diligent as a student can be involved in their precepts, so much so that I contributed - admittedly, indirectly, but contributed nonetheless - to let the last two of them in. So, as to amuse himself with my pitiful pleas, my desperate attempts, the intractable manager asks, over the radio, for the guest list to be brought to him.
Once the document in his possession, he challenges me, very solemnly, to provide him with ten names from this register. If I manage to complete this application, I may be granted entry. No consideration for failure. I have nothing to lose. In the chronological order of reservations, I try to name at best I can ten names that could make the list: Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Alan Wilson, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Ron McKernan, Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse but I am missing the tenth suitor. Having some nerves, I certify to be the last one. The employee then asks me my name.
My name is... I am, I am...
An alarm rings.
I am… Blinded by daylight, still in bed and late for work!