I’m drivin downtown, on my way to work. It’s a Sunday. Nice day out. My cell phone rings in my pocket, I reach for it. It’s the booker. Calling me. Ok, in almost ten years of workin with him, he has never called me. Just text. This must be important.
What’s up, man? What’s goin on? He says, sorry to bother you Clint, but we have a situation. I just got a text from Ben (name change), and he told me that Secondman (name change) wants to beat the shit out of you. WHAT?!?! I barely know the guy! Why does he wanna beat me up? He says, he heard, through the grapevine, you’ve been talkin shit. Talkin shit? What the f? I’ve never said one bad word about the guy. Andrea (name change) must’ve said somethin to him. But I don’t know what. I’ve been nice to him every time he’s played the bar! Well, Ben’s on tour with him right now, playin bass (instrument change). I’m just passin on the info he texted me. Well, thanks, I guess. I hang up the phone. Great, and now I have to see him, cause he’s playin the bar tonight. Should I call in sick? Nah. Don’t be a pussy. Do what you do best, Clint. Talk your way outta shit.
As a brief recap, Secondman is a musician out of NYC (city change). He’s played the bar a bunch of times. I meet this girl, Andrea, randomly, at the bar, that dated him at one time, and now she’s living in Des Moines. Ben is a musician from Des Moines that coincidently met Secondman, and started touring with him. I’m friends with Ben also. There’s the backstory.
I park in the back, I see his big trailer. I’m gonna find him, approach him, talk this out. Strangely, I see him in the back, and take him by surprise. Hey, Jack (first name change)! He turns around, seems flustered for a second, then puts on a smile. Hey, Clint (no name change). Listen, I say, I don’t know what the hell is goin on, but I just received a phone call from the booker that said you’re angry with me, and want to beat me up? What? He says. Huh, I don’t know anything about that. Well, not to throw this guy under the bus, but he said Ben reported that news to him. Yeah, he says, that was just locker-room talk. Ok, well, whatever it was, it was misinformation. I’ve never talked shit about you. Never. I’ve actually said really good things about you. I think you’re a talented musician, and a great guy, so I don’t know where the hell this is coming from. He says, Andrea said a few things, like you thought I was psychotic. Nope, never said a word about that. I don’t know what Andrea’s tellin you, but it’s wrong. To be honest, I don’t know anything about you! Only that you come through, and play the bar, couple times a year. And you’re friends with Andrea. Hmm, he says, guess there was a miscommunication. Yep, I say, guess there was. All-right, he says, I appreciate you talkin to me. Let’s just shake hands and move on. We shake, and I say, great. I’ll see you inside. I go inside, and start my daily duties. I’m shaking.
He comes in a half-hour later, says, I’m sorry about all of that. I say, no problem. I just didn’t want to get my ass kicked, you psycho. He laughs. I say, let’s do a shot.
That always seems to make things better.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender