Being in a band makes you into an asshole, if you weren’t one already, which you probably were if you’re any sort of serious musician.
Every restaurant is a potential venue. Sure they don’t have a stage or a PA system, but the overworked and overdrawn manager needs to know that an entertainment hall would greatly benefit his business. Taking out a loan to refit the ballroom will pay off in the end, even if you’re currently serving food on paper plates because the business can’t afford new china. I know how you should run your business, nevermind that I still live with my parents and my only assets are an electric guitar and a harmonica, just believe me, man.
You blow off friends for open mics, because hanging out with drunk strangers who tolerate your music is better than sitting around with your buddies who tell it to you straight. You’re addicted, just one more set, just one more acoustic showcase, and before you know it, you’ve blown through all the local venues and you’re traveling 40 miles to get your fix. Any new song is a potential cover, and whistled tune on the street could be your future single.
Your pets hate you because your music hurts their ears. Your parents hate you because your band cleans out the refrigerator. And your friends hate you because every conversation becomes shameless self-promotion.
“I’ve got this date with a great guy tonight, I’m so nervous.”
“Ah, that is nerve-wracking. You know how I calm down? Jamming with my band.”
“I can’t believe we’re going on our third date! It’s unbelievable how well we’re getting along. Dare I say he’s the one?”
“Why don’t you bring him to the open-mic tonight? You can see if he likes my band, that’ll tell you if he’s the one.”
“Oh my god, he asked me to marry him! I said yes!”
“And you should say yes to coming to see my band play at the bar tonight. Why don’t you come celebrate with us?”
“Did you get the invitation to our wedding? I’d like to ask you to be a bridesmaid.”
“Yeah, but I can’t come, my band has a huge gig that night at a music hall we’ve been trying to nail down. You know, priorities.”
“My husband and I have decided to separate, can I stay on your couch? I’m getting a divorce.”
“Sorry, my living room has been converted to a practice space, so I threw out my furniture. But you could set up a futon under the piano. Why did you separate?”
“Because my no good husband is addicted to crack cocaine.”
“Say, can you get me some of that? It’s just the kind of pick me up my band needs!”