Right away I sat at the computer and wrote out a letter of resignation (or, rather, another letter of resignation.) The letter wasn't nearly as satisfying as Pam's had been a few months ago. I was so proud of her. She had said things on my mind, and things I would have liked to have put on my own letter, and probably would have, had I had more time to think the letter through. As it was, I gave him a three paragraph statement of immediate fact. Then Ijust sat for a while, and tried to decide what I was going to do about the immediate future. About that very night, and even the day ahead. Even though I had a letter resigning from Subby in my hands, that didn't excuse me from the shift I had to work that night. I gave a month's notice in my letter, as per my workplace agreement. Should I just call in sick that night, an obvious lie? Should I hand in the letter and assume that Bosco would act like a child like usual and tell me to get of the premisis immediately?
I didn't know.
I handed in the letter, and asked Sim if he would cover my shift at Festy, since calling in sick there would spell disaster. They are petty and unforgiving. I feel like I've built myself quite a reputation there - Goldenboy, as Desie, Alex and Sim call me - and if I were to miss a single shift, I'd be bumped to the bottom of the roster. While that wouldn't nessecarily mean I was fired, it would mean that I may not be contacted for future events except in an emergency. I don't know if that's fact or not, but its popular legend, and history certainly supports it.
Unsurprisingly, Sim didn't want anything to do with Festival Hall. He was at work, so the entire conversation took place via SMS, and consisted, for his part, of a lot of 'Sorry, man's, even though I offered to triple the pay, at one point. He's funny about that place. I understand why he doesn't like it, but it frustrates me that he can't understand why I see it as the best job I've ever had.
I arrived at Subby and found Sandra taking a 'walk.' She told me I looked ill, which was troubling. I told her why I was there, and left the letter without much explanation.To my annoyance, Jamie called while I was there. She'd been watching the cameras from D'D'Nong and simply wanted to know what I was doing there.
"So," I asked, probably sounding a little cocky. "Not very busy?"
I told her I was there to leave a letter for Simon, and she knew what it was for, and wanted an explanation, asked me to stay, and, despite how snappy and rude I'd been with her when she first called, it actually worked in my favour. Within minutes she'd found someone to cover my shifts on both nights from her store. It was quite miraculous, considering that absolutely no one had been available a day earlier. Katy would a few days later complain about not being able to get someone to cover her shift when she tried to call in sick, and I told her that the only way to get a day off was to quit.
It's strange how music can sound different in different situations. When I'd driven into the store, I was listening to the Kaiser Chief's Employment album, and the songs took on a sombre tone for the first time in their life. But now, after finally giving in my letter, and knowing that it is final, and having these two nights sorted out, they bounced out of the MXican, and I literally laughed when I tried to sing along with the lyrics.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Kaiser Chiefs @ Festival Hall
I left home early and sneaked in a few pre-show drinks at the Carron, then headed to the Festy office, still a little early. When I arrived, not many people were around. I'd followed a woman who looked like Kate down the street, but it wasn't, which was a shame, because I'd hoped to charm her into offering me some office work again. Inside, Bebop and that girl with blue hair were setting up the desk.
"Ah," Bebop half-grinned characteristically. "Weren't sure if we'd see you tonight."
I guess my expression must have tipped him off that I didn't know what he meant. Turned out that when the girl had contacted me initially, she had statedd the correct dates, but not the right days. So, she'd told me that I was working Tuesday the 6th, when the sixth actually fell on the Monday. Foolishly, I made note of the day rather than the date, and, oddly enough, haven't been keeping up with gig-guides as religiously as I usual, for some reason.
"You've got to be kidding me," I asked, seriously. He could tell, too. "Right?"
"Don't worry about it!"
"You don't understand..." I started. I considered going into details... relaying the story of the lengths I went to to make it for the two gigs, and to see the Kaiser Chiefs. Which reminded me... "Last night was Kaiser Chiefs, right? I've got that part right, at least, don't I? I really wanted to see that gig."
"Yeah, it was Kaiser Chiefs," Bebop shrugged, then turned away, and, over his shoulder. "But you didn't miss much."
It was a sentiment relayed to me throughout the evening. Apparently, much to the dissatisfaction of the few people who had worked both nights, the same support act was working at both shows: Operator Please. I don't know many of their songs, but like the few I've heard, so I was at least looking forward to them, since I am not particularly into the headliner for the evening, Arctic Monkeys. They have a couple of songs I like though. One thing that can be said for a majority of the Festy staff is that they aren't very musically open minded. Rarely have they even heard of the act playing. This night was no different. "What kind of a stupid name is that?" rang out a couple of times from the back of the room. That big guy with the blonde frizzy hair who thinks way too highly of himself and that I like him (despite the fact that I have never given him any indication that this is the case) continually made jokes in the lead up to opening the doors about the apparent absurdity of Operator Please, songs about ping pong, and the fact that the drummer looked to be fourteen years old. I couldn't be bother telling him that the drummer probably is fourteen, but had to tell him 'enough' when he kept repeating the chorus in an annoying parody to 'A Song About Ping Pong, followed by his token hysterics. He was laughing, so at least his jokes weren't completely lost, I guess. So, to revise,
Tuesday, August 7, 2007,
After Operator Please played an enjoyable set, which they seemed to genuinely love every minute of, the wait for Arctic Monkeys seemed intolerably long. Perhaps it was because my security guard was driving me nuts. It isn't uncommon for the security staff to make the usual jokes with patrons like "You don't have any cameras in your bags? Drinks? Machine guns?" But my guy for the evening, an overly talkative old man who must surely have been beyond retirement age, seemed to ask ever patron. I was working on a new door, one directly opposite another, so I had the company of a fellow Festival Haller - Will. I've helped him out a few times when he was new and ushering, and this was his first night working on a door. He was a litte nervous, but he seemed to do fine. I've always liked talking to him. Unlike others, he is one of the few who knows about music, and in particular AusRock, so we got along just fine, but when things quietened down, I closed his door and sent him to relieve other staff and cover for people who needed breaks and stuff.
Meanwhile, old Security guy regaled me with stories of his elustrious career and how his boss at a previous security gig fired him unfairly - he was asleep on the job and out of uniform. I didn't quite understand his reasoning as to why, but agreed anyway. The rest of his evening was spent trying to sneak in a quick cigarette between visits from his supervisors (his skills at which, I must genuinely admit, were impressive) and searching backpacks with the hope of confiscating a six-pack for later on. Later, Travisty shoved a guy with frizzy hair out my door while the guy tripped over his own untied Chuck Taylors and projectile vomitted all over the floor at the bottom of the stairs.
"Ah, dude!" Trav patted the guy on the shoulder, sitting him on the step outside in the laneway, while I called for cleanUp in aisle 12 on the radio. "You almost made it to the end of the set!"
I hardly saw the humour in the situation, particularly since I had been listening in on the incompetence of the cleaning staff of the evening. Ernest, an Indian guy, who I find particularly enigmatic, seems particularly well respected. He heads a team of two other, apparently mute, cleaning staff who move slowly and do things at inopportune times (ie, empty bins when crowds of patrons are leaving.) I have a particular vendetta against Ernest, though leave it to fate to oust his scheme. On many nights, he tries to sneak in a bunch of friends, with the line, 'They are with me,' and on each night, I deny him the privelage. Tonight, whenever anyone gave him, or his staff an instruction, he gave them a blank stare, a plea of ignorance. There had been a string of radio calls all night asking if anyone knew where cleaning staff were. Mark and Bebop were frantically searching for them to clean splashes of Cockney spew throughout the venue. When I did track them down at one point earlier and tell them they were needed with mops and sawdust, they asked where they could find mops, and for a definition of sawdust.
"What?" I shouted, over something from the Arctic Monkey's new album. "I don't know where. That's your job. You need to ask your boss that question."
The Arctic Monkeys themselves were impressive. I hadn't expected much, but the crowd loved them, and I did too. Although I kind of like a few of their songs, I gained a whole new respect for them live - enough to feel a strong desire to rush out the following day and grab a copy. I even did, but luckily the Whatever People Say I Am... album was still 16$, so I went without, and have since thought better of it. Still, if ever I have an online music subscription in future, I will probably download some of their songs and look back on the night with fond memories.
Although it wasn't a night filled with the Kaiser Chiefs who I went to such extraordinary lengths to see, it was a night I had a blast through. It even featured a counterfeit ticket racket, the worst phoney 'VIP' passes I have ever seen, swarms of people claiming 'we are supposed to meet Mack Gudinsky backstage...' I had fun. But a change is in the air, I can feel it. But what happens now? I don't know. And I fear it is hard to tell what to do through a psychosis-clouded mind...