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Add page to: Add page to: Band X and myself are in Mullingar, about an hour outside of Dublin. The venue is, to put it charitably, a shithole. The promoter, (in my opinion), is a crook. (It is not just a stereotype that a lot of them are. A lot of them are.) Unload the van. T the tour manager asks me if I'll take care of the door and the merchandise (ie. Take tickets from those who brought them previously, take the cash from those paying in on the night, and sell the merch, which in this case is CD's and T-Shirts). I don't really want to (I won't be able to see the gig properly from my position), but I love helping out, they brought me here, I've never paid a cent to see them, so I think 'fuck it' and say 'yep, I'll do it'
.
T: Ok, there's the door where you'll be. There's where I want you to set up the merch. We're going off for tea. Showtime is half an hour.
Me: Right so. Bring me back a sandwich will ya?
T: No problem.
Me (to the band): Don't forget to get me a sandwich. I ain't eaten either, and I'm fuckin' starvin'.
S (singer): No bother, boss!
Two hours later (yes, I DID say showtime was in half an hour), the boys return. Everyone is in the room. The support act is done and the crowd has waited quite a while for the boys to come on. They stroll in and the promoter, whose been helping me get sorted, says to them, 'why doesn't Randall introduce you before you go on?'
The boys are well up for it. I'm studying their hands. I'm not seeing a fucking sandwich. I bite my tongue. They're still trying to convince me to introduce them. This goes on for a few minutes. Then the fuse blows: 'Ya can fuck off with your fuckin' introductions if I ain't even worth a fuckin' sandwich to yiz, ya pricks!'
. Silence. Then, a babbling chorus of 'oh fuck'
, 'oh man'
, 'dude, I'm sorry'
'bollocks, sorry mate, we all forgot, we were eating pizza'
etc etc.
Eating pizza. Hmfh.
I took some cash out of the ticket money and got some food in the encore break.