Alarum

Last night:

Commenced busking circa 7:00 pm. Just wanted to go out for a while, wind down, get my mind off stupid things. Played John Prine song "Speed of the Sound of Lonelyness" (sic) and Elliott Smith's "Pretty (Ugly Before)" for the first time. The latter was pretty popular. Also debuted "Hands & Knees", something of my own I've been tweaking. All was good with the world. Money was made. Somebody even gave me a 20 (though they swapped it with some singles from my guitar case).

Around 9:15, decided I was tired. One more song. Finish whatever it is I'm playing, then I'll wrap it up with "Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands." I hear a little ruckus going on at the ticket counter behind me, but mostly ignore it. "He's allowed to be playing here" seeps through. I ignore. I play. I get interrupted by clatter on the dividing bars behind me.

"Hey, buddy."

Great. A cop. Scratch that, two cops.

I've dealt with this before. He'll tell me to go away, I'll act like a snot and end up packing, then wishing I'd played it cooler when I think back on it later. So I take a deep breath. I will be cool. I won't act like a douche.

"What's up, man?" I ask, totally chill, friend to the world and all its creatures.

"Look man, I'm not gonna tell you you can't play here, but you gotta be at least 50 feet from the ticket booth. Move around the corner."

"Why, is it poisonous?"

"What?"

"Is the booth poisonous?"

"No. Why?"

"Why can't I be this close?"

"Look, it's the rule."

"Okay, that's cool. I'm not trying to argue, it's just I've either been told to pack it up or nothing at all. I haven't heard the booth thing before."

"Well, it's the rule."

"Okay. Man. That's just weird. Have you ever been down here before? People play in this spot all the time."

"How old are you?"

"Huh?"

"How old are you?"

"I...uh, I think that's neither here nor there."

"Just tell me how old you are."

"30, let's say."

A blank look. The beginnings of a protesting response. I chime in:

"All right, I'm 24."

"You're 24? I've been working this area for six years, so I don't need you to school me on what goes on down here."

"Okay, I --"

"You're not supposed to play so close."

"Okay. I've been playing here for two years, this is what I do, and I'm not arguing, all I'm saying is people play in this spot and this spot alone down here, so I'm --"

"You wanna see the rule?"

"I'd love to."

"It's upstairs in my car. You wanna go upstairs?"

I get the implication. "No, on second thought, I'm comfortable here."

Pause. Pretty long. Me:

"So, this is a pretty interesting stand-off we have here."

"There's no stand-off."

Pause. I finally begin to pack up to migrate "around the corner". Figures that no trains have come to take my audience away in like 10 minutes, so they're seeing all of this. Cop:

"You should do your research. Look up the rule."

As I round the corner: "Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."

I unpack almost literally next to the track, because the platform shrinks greatly after the booth area. As I'm sorting my harps, my peripheral vision picks up the cop's partner stalking up to me. Double great. Cop 2:

"Hey, I gotta say: he defended you. The station master reported you, and he (his partner) defended you. He didn't have to do that."

"Okay, it didn't really come off as a defense --"

"And you acted like a dick. He defended you and you acted like a dick to him."

"Well, I'm sorry, but--"

"That's all I'm saying."

"Wait. Think about it. Think about who I am, and who you are. I'm not used to someone like you defending someone like me, so I'm sorry if I didn't pick up on it, but it seems like he--"

"He defended you and you acted like a dick."

"Well, tell him I appreciate it."

Cop 2 strolls off, muttering under his breath.

I pause. Fumble with my guitar until the train of salvation removes my onlookers and leaves me alone. Then I go home.

But it's not over. With my newfound information, I cross to the ticket booth, knock lightly on the window, and wish the elderly man who's working in there a mildly sarcastic good night. As I move away, he emerges:

"Hey, wait!"

"What's up?"

"I want to let you know I think you're the most talented person down here. He made me report you!"

"Who did?"

"The station master! He made me do it! I like having you down here. All the other guys are broken records. You're the only good one."

"Well, thanks, man."

"It depends on what station master's working. No one's consistent. I say, 'is he allowed to play down here or no?' He says it's a volume issue."

"Weird. I've never heard that before...I've been down here two years."

"Yeah, I've been down here for four months. You're really great, I just wanted to let you know. It wasn't my choice."

"Well, thanks. What's your name?"

"Ed."

We shake, somewhat uncomfortably.

"Ed. I'm Rob. Nice to meet you. Have a good night."

"You too, Rob."

Gone.

What the hell? What's wrong with me? I really tried hard not to be an asshole to those guys, but I really hate cops. I hate misplaced, ridiculously machismo authority figures. It makes me sick. But here this guy defends me because the station master doesn't want me there at all, and I rattle on and act like the unavoidable douche, driving his help away. THEN I learn that even the booth guy didn't want to kick me out. Geez! If I'd only left when I had the instinct, the whole thing could've been avoided. The rest of my evening found me dwelling on the way I treat people, and how it could stand some serious improvement.

All day I'd been fretting over the dumbest personal stuff, basically being self-absorbed for no good reason, only to have the only actual impact I had on the world for the day be an overall negative one. If that makes sense. Basically, to use lame gym teacher speak, I need an attitude adjustment.

I tried keeping that in mind today. Remaining understanding at all times, or making that the challenge, at any rate. Not easy in customer service. Then I tried applying it to the annoying personal stuff. Still working on that...thankfully, there is no shortage of reasonable distractions at the moment.