I’m always on duty, so last night at the bar after my show, when a seemingly drunk girl sat at the bar beside me, I started chatting her up at once. You know, about my show.
First she wanted to know when it was, before I even told her what it was. That’s what she requested. Friday night was open for her, so I proceeded. I gave her the little spiel, “I was in a cult, we believed that Jesus had returned and was living in Montana.”
She interrupted – “I believe Jesus has returned and is living in our hearts, so that’s where we differ.”
OK, drunk Christian girl – not my demographic. Time to tell her to have a wonderful evening and go on about my business, right? Absolutely. So, of course, I didn’t.
I told her a bit more about the show, and she was getting interested (I’m a good pitchman). Then she asked, “Is there a cover?”
Besides the fact that I usually don’t associate theatrical events with having a “cover,” I continued to continue.
“Yeah, seven dollars.”
She looked like she’d just had a lemon squirted in her eyes.
“Yeah, see…” she said. “That’s the big ouch. I’m kinda broke.”
Really. She said “The Big Ouch.”
I happen to think that $7 is dirt cheap for my show, but it is the maximum price that you can charge at the Rogue Festival. Which I’m totally cool with. In some ways Fresno isn’t the most economically thriving area, so there’s no need to price things so as to be exclusive. But still, $7 is hardly The Big Ouch, right? 15, maybe. 20, probably. 45, absolutely.
I’m not trying to be a fiscal snob, but as she was telling me about “The Big Ouch,” this girl was throwing down a fiver for a drink. I tried to break down the math for her – one drink, 5 bucks, 20 minutes to drink it, that’s $15 an hour, my show is half that price, but that’s really a no-win sales pitch.
Time to spin the old bar stool around, talk to someone else, let it drop. I did my best, right? No hard feelings, she’s just not into it. Cool.
So, of course, I told her I’d put her on the guest list. THIS IS WHY I SHOULD NOT DRINK!
And I’ll make good on my promise, too. She won’t show up, of course. Even if she walks past the venue while people are lined up she won’t come in. Which is fine, really – just sometimes I get dogged about people coming to my show. Not in a stalker way. Well, except for the one girl in Vancouver. She REFUSED to even touch my flyer – like I was handing her a used tissue. I demanded she take it and hear my spiel. She refused. I saw her again a few minutes later, and she listened to me, took the flyer, walked away.
After the show the next night she came up to me and thanked me for being so persistent, said she loved the show.
So, you see? Stalking and self-promotion really do go hand in hand.
In other news, I went here, to Fresno’s famous Chicken Pie Shop:
And ate this:
No, the image doesn’t need any color calibration – the gravy really is that shade of , uh, whatever color you’d call that. And man, it was good.