Sometimes, people suck. And–I’m sorry if this offends anyone–I find that rich people usually suck the worst.
A spent a while this summer being in charge of music for a cute little venue. We’d have live acts come through, and on the breaks between sets, I’d turn on the approved Pandora station. Patrons would drift in and out during the evening, and I rarely had more interaction than answering what time the live music would begin again.
Except this one group of really awesome people.
It was a chilly-ish evening with a hint of a drizzle. Since I was using my phone to run sound, I was hidden beneath my umbrella, and this group came up and told me I should give them my umbrella.
I swallowed my first reaction of “What?! No!” and very calmly said, “I’m sorry, but I need the umbrella to protect the electronic that runs the sound.”
They glared at me, moved to a fire pit, and proceeded to pull booze out of every pocket they had. From their behavior, I think they had already had plenty to drink, but I was in charge of sound not sobriety, so I just kept an eye on them to make sure they didn’t light themselves on fire and went about my business.
We got to the canned Pandora music between sets, and these people had a fit. Everything was programed to a folk guitar station, but the drunkies didn’t think that fit the “vibe” of the evening. So they wanted me to log into their Pandora account and play their music.
Which, no, I’m not letting you touch anything in the program; no, I don’t trust your Pandora; and please sit down and drink your whiskey and wine, sir. Yes, they were drinking whiskey and wine.
I was really damn nice about it and explained that it was my job to play the approved station and that I couldn’t let anything else come through the speakers.
The man turned to me and said, “What are they going to do, fire you? Do you actually want to keep this job?”
This was when the urge to toss his whiskey into the fire really kicked in.
He kept going. “I’m not that kind of employee, and they always try to fire me. I show up to those meetings and show them my sales numbers. Nine billion dollars in sales. Nine billion. That’s a real number, nine billion. Then they do whatever I say they should. How could they not after nine billion dollars? You should listen to me, play my Pandora.”
Please picture me soggy, fuming, and ready to scratch out eyeballs.
I said no politely and spent the rest of the night avoiding the drunk, rich buttholes.
And the real kicker, they showed up again the next night, and he gave me the same damn nine billion dollar spiel.
Good sales numbers do not a good person make.
Also, don’t mess with a person’s Pandora. That’s just plain rude.
And here’s a picture to sweeten the now sour taste in your mouth.