The gig

About this:
Short story, strong language, give it a miss if gratuitous profanity offends.

The gig

‘You’ve got a groupie’.

‘That’s not possible, this is my first outing,’ I replied to the MC, John I think his name is, ‘whoever it is, they’re here for someone else’.

‘No — she’s yours, she asked me to point you out, while you were in the bar,’ he insisted, great a groupie that doesn’t know what I look like, she not going to be a nightmare stalker is she?

‘What’s she like, 23 stone with a moustache?’.

‘Well I’m not party to her grooming habits but after half of bottle vodka, you’d be grateful’. Funnily enough, hard up as I am in the bedroom comfort department, balancing the negative effects of alcohol on the libido with its facility for enhancing the appeal of a less than spectacular catch, is a rather less than scintillating prospect. I do have a little experience with ardent followers, albeit indirectly, two of my friends have had their lives turned inside out by examples of that sisterhood and a professional acquaintance was hounded by one, so noteworthy for her ardency, someone decided to make a television documentary about her, trust me — the worst of it didn’t make it to the telly.

‘Actually I’m feeling a little…’.

‘Fuck you — you’re going on,’ then he left to enter the bar, leaving me alone with the steel barrels and CO2 bottles. Right then, I’ll think I’ll start off with the one about slaughtering pigs, that should kill the mood for her. I hear him testing the mike, I’ve often wondered what that puffing and one twoing was about, now I realise it’s quite a useful cue. By the time I’ve gone through my check list: props, reading glasses oh yeah and the words, he’s finished my intro: ‘…Derek Spencer — er Fly?’.

Shit that’s close enough, now I make my entrance, oh Jesus there’s a fucking light on me, thanks pal it’s Dead Spider Eye for a reason you know, fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck — fuck, how am I gonna make it to the dais? Hang on — I see a bit now, should’ve brought the shades, thud! ‘Oops, sorry, it’s the light’. Oh dear her boyfriend doesn’t look too happy with her drink in his lap, ‘Oh shit — sorry, yeah I’ll buy you another when I’m done’.

‘Pfff!’ yeah the mike works, oh is that her? she’s not too bad actually. Anyway here goes, ‘To kill a pig…’.

…oh dear this isn’t going too well, maybe I should try a different tack, ‘…half a league, half a league…’.

…nope, how about? ‘Did you hear the one about the singing octopus…’


‘…Assuage your flight!’ finished and no aeroelastic glass, that’s a win I think. An interesting question arises, if one person is clapping does that count as applause? Ah, I see now, you have to wind ’em up a bit, this bit’s quite nice actually, where’s that groupie? Oh right, she brought her boyfriend, or is that someone she just got off with?

‘Large gin and tonic please’.

‘You know you’re paying?’.


‘That table you knocked the drinks over at, has had your quota’.

‘Christ it was just one bottle of WKD’.

‘Haven’t you hooked upped then?’ it’s the MC, ‘its OK Clive, he’s good for a couple of drinks’.

‘Oh thanks — er, Jer…’.

‘John — sorry about the intro it’s a bit of a tradition here’.

‘Oh that’s OK, thanks for the drink, by the way, what do mean — hooked up?’.

‘Your groupie, she’s still here in the corner, look,’ John gestured with a nod to a dark corner of the bar that my eyesight couldn’t penetrate. Still, I feigned recognition.

‘She’s with some guy, a biker with studs and boots’.

He laughed, ‘I think you’ve got her mixed up, she really doesn’t look the type, c’mon get over there, it’s your duty as a performer now’.

Navigating to the other side of a dark bar is a lot easier without a light in your fucking face, she’s sitting alone in a nook. It’s still quite dark but the pebble thick lenses of her glasses are unmistakeable even for me, ‘Hello Sarah, thanks for coming’.

~ by deadspidereye on June 9, 2015.

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