Feckin' GAA
In case I haven't mentioned it, I hate the GAA. What happened last night though, while hardly their fault only adds to that feeling.
I was supposed to be doing the after-band gig in Bray again. That's a fun one. The Abba tribute band get the crowd warmed up and I pick up the pieces. Sweet. At the last minute however, Stephen asked me to take a Christmas party for an investment company. Unfortunately, it's in one of the function rooms at Bigot Central (aka Croke Park).
While parking was the best ever (literally outside the door of the function room under the stand), the rest of the evening was best forgotten, This crowd got very drunk very fast and were well gone by the time the boss got to his feet for the speeches. This oration cosisted of the usual "You've all done very well" platitudes punctuated by instructions to somebody called Tony to shut up. It was like a catch phrase only not funny. Then he moved on to the spot prizes. Such generosity! There was a top prize of a TV, which they probably picked up in Lidl. A voucher for HMV was another highlight. I have no doubt that the lucky recipient will enjoy spending the €20, perhaps in the bargain bin.
While the object of Christmas parties is to get everyone on the dancefloor, different tastes and age groups have to be satisfied so it's a delicate balance and it takes a half hour or so to read the crowd well enough. However, all I got was "that's too old", "that's too girly", "have you any new stuff?" "how about some rock n' roll?" Eventually I got fed up with them and played any old shite they asked for. As someone once said, "don't try to educate 'em, entertain 'em."
At the end of the night, I loaded the gear into the car (as previously mentioned, it was just outside the door) and approached the girl in charge for my fee. "I didn't know I was supposed to pay you." You think? I smell a problem here. After what had been a frustrating night for me, I kinda lost it a bit and very crossly told her that this was just not acceptable. She bloody well knew she'd have to pay me the balance of what was owed. "But I don't have the money on me," she claimed. "Tell you what, I'll have someone post you a cheque on Monday." Well that was the final straw. "IF (and I stress the "IF") you post a cheque on Monday, I won't get paid until after Christmas," I explained as if to a backward child. There was no more to be said, so I just turned and walked out. Straight away, I sent a text to Stephen who said he'd sort it on Monday. He's just as mad as I am because he was very clear in his dealings with this one.