Wisdom From a Tote Bag
🗓️ September 20, 2024
⏰ Read Time: 5 min
“We’ve already got someone for tonight, sorry man.” — it was the manager, and he wasn’t lying. There, over his shoulder, was a gangling musician with a rig that looked like mine setting up right where I was heading. The two waitresses at the counter looked like they were watching a puppy get tossed across the room by its tail. And I’m sure that’s how I looked at first — disappointed, panicked, frustrated, confused. Doesn’t this fella know how far I drove to get here? Can’t that other musician see how he’s robbed hours and money right from my hand? What gives?
A younger me would have had a bright red face and a look of abject terror at being the focus of uncomfortable glances and awkward interactions. I would have tucked my little tail between my legs and scooted backwards out of the door with the doom and gloom of a hurricane. I get terrible anxiety in front of people, and yes, that does make my chosen career path ironic, to say the least. But through these years of being emotionally vulnerable in front of everyone, from church folk to half drunk dads shouting at the game on the TV above my head, I’ve learned to get over it. No one cares, no one notices, everyone immediately forgets because everyone’s too worried about how they look to pay any mind to anything else. So what did I do? I brought my shoulders back, held my head up and asked some awkward questions to find out what the heck was going on.
“Oh really? That’s weird ‘cause I was booked for tonight. Do you know if there was a change in the schedule?”
“Look man, my supervisor does all that, I don’t know anything about it.”
“Yeah, I guess there’s nothing you can do. That’s really weird though.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, this guy showed up and so it’s his gig. If I were you, I would get on the horn with your booking guy.”
I thanked the manager and the two waitresses for their help, and picked up my guitar to go. The other musician and I made eye contact. Neither one of us stopped what we were doing. We didn’t smile at each other, we didn’t look away. There was no awkwardness or spite. No “sorry man!” in his eyes, and no “you rat!” in mine. We looked at each other like you might watch the screensaver on a computer — mildly amused, not at all surprised, and only vaguely aware that you’re looking at anything at all.
The situation reminded me of a saying written on this tote bag I keep my notebooks and folders in. My backpack was stolen the other day and I found this gem of a bag in the cabinet — a gift from the in-laws, and a bloody good one.
It says “If you want breakfast in bed, sleep in the kitchen.” The strangest looking woman, with creepy red lips gawks at you next to the blood-red type. I love this saying because it’s passive aggressive, makes almost no sense, and has the faintest hint of almost-satire. Why does it remind me of the gig situation? Glad you asked —
I learned two lessons from losing out on this gig. First, doing something you love as a job is like trying to eat breakfast in bed. The concept is terrific, but who actually wants to balance pungent eggs, crumbly toast, and scalding hot coffee on their stomach while their legs fall asleep and their pillow shifts every two minutes? The bed will inevitably get dirty. Making work out of what you love, likewise, has its own unique challenges, making you realize that breakfast is breakfast, and work is work no matter where you eat it, or where you do it. Sometimes the coffee spills, and sometimes you lose your spot at the gig. BUT if you can slide past that near-cynicism with me for one second, I bring you to the other lesson learned: This kind of work is also like sleeping in the kitchen. An idea that sounds awful in concept, but in actuality, would be a phenomenal way to pass a slumber. Think it over with me. Do you love the smell of brewing coffee? Do you like the sizzling sounds of bacon? How about the freshness of a just-cut orange. Yeah, I thought so. Now of course, unless someone is making these things for you in the morning, all you will have is the idea of them. But that’s a whole lot better than no possibility at all. The faint hope of waking up to those smells is better than the full assurance that you will not wake up to them. And there you have it. Lesson number two: Making work out of what you love is like sleeping in the kitchen — no guarantee of the good smells of longed for, but a whole lot closer than the alternative.
Did that make a whole lot of sense? No. No it did not. But did it make a little sense? Ah…still no, it did not make even a little sense. And that’s a bonus third lesson for today: not everything we read on tote bags is as applicable as we might want it to be.
Your friend,
Joseph Bones
