Journal Task #1- A Terrible Concert

Awful. It was a horrible waste of money, to say the least. I can’t believe I’ve waited 20 years just to see them serve up that rubbish. Disgusted words buzz through my ears like swarming bees, while the bar is teeming with angry concertgoers. I really don’t blame them though because my head is also throbbing from the disastrous, off-key concert.

I’m utterly embarrassed in front of my disappointed mates, having raved so long about them, only to witness them fail so miserably. I feel pressured to make the night better, to brighten up the dull ambience of this bar and the plain-old dark, night sky– just how?

“I’ll pick the concert next time, Christopher, that wasn’t our best night out,” Christie yells mockingly into my ear. I’m exhausted by the loud noise and the stink of the angry crowd, and, to top it off, I feel so guilty as my friend insults my taste in music. “They used to be amazing,” I lament to Christie. “The band is great, but the singer just needs to lift his game. Listen to me; he has great potential. I think I could turn their fortunes around again, if I worked with him for a few months” I try my hardest to persuade her that they’re actually a talented band.

“Stop being silly, man, you’re a country singer.”

“Trust me. He just needs someone to be honest and show the dude what he’s really doing wrong.”

Suddenly, I’m nearly knocked off my feet and I stumble into place, when someone falls on me in drunken exuberance. Now I’m covered in red wine.

“I’m so sorry love. Lemme buy you another one” The lead singer of Red Floyd just barged into me! My heart skips a beat, or a few perhaps, and for a moment, I melt into a puddle on the floor. It’s Roger Stagger! The cacophony hushes as the crowd registers who has just stumbled in. All eyes are on Roger now.

Christie shakes her head, “It’s time to go home.”

A voice in the background of my ecstatic thoughts is shouting that this isn’t an opportunity to be wasted! I decide that I’m going to stay on. I imagine just how impressive it’d look on my resume – Vocal coach to Roger Stagger, and responsible for the comeback of Red Floyd. I see a brilliant career path opening up before my star struck eyes.

I lean over to him, so he can hear me over the recovered racket. “I’ll let you buy me a drink, under one condition. Buy it somewhere other than here, where we can talk. I have a proposition for you…” I’m really confident but Christie just stares at me in disapproval.

Roger Stagger and I stroll towards a nearby, relaxed café under the hopeful night sky, freckled with glowing dust.

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