About a week ago, Steve and I went to the yet-to-be-opened Dick’s for an audition. We had been invited by the chain’s National Entertainment Director after responding to an ad we found on Craigslist. Among about 8 other bands, which were of the full-band-cover-show-extravaganza style, we were an unlikely duo. But we killed!

So much so that they booked us for four weekday gigs and one weekend gig in a two week span.

Our first date was last Monday night; Dick’s first official night of business. As we strolled in well before our set time of 6:30pm, we found out that none of the gear from the audition was left on stage for us to use. In fact, they had nothing in-house besides a mixer and a house PA. I had to roll back up to Northeast Baltimore to get our own mics and mic-stands. We went on an hour late, but the management understood the miscommunication.

Our first set lasted 40 minutes (their policy is 40-on 20-off). I left the stage to go to the bar and received praise from some random folks. Then I received a text from Steve, who was only 30 feet away from me.

“We have been sacked!”

I went over to him to ask what that meant exactly.  As it turns out, the restaurant manager felt that we were not a good fit. Furthermore, he explained that although he would still pay us for the night we were definitely not to go on stage anymore, that night or any following night.

“What happened?” I asked Steve.

“Something about the banjo not being a good fit in a place like this…”

I was confused. Then the manager approached, handed me a check, and apologized. I handed him a CD. He seemed kind of baffled by that.

Looking for some value in the experience we quickly got to work, taking advantage of our 1/2-priced band discount which, at a place like Dick’s, really gets the prices down to about where they should be ($4.75 Natty Bohs, just sayin…). From the bar, we got a good view of our replacement act, as management opened up the stage for little kids to jump around and throw balloons at one another.

After spending an hour or so in delightful drunken rejection we decided to milk a little bit more out of the night. We asked the bouncer, a dutiful fellow by the name of BooBee James, to throw us out on our untalented, podunk, and down-right disrespectful asses.

We left with fat pockets, full bellies, and a great press pic and we only had to play for 40 minutes!

***
If you like this post check out:

You Band Is On A Broken Down Bus In The Desert: Have A Good Time! – True story about the Flute Squad getting booted off national television, being abandoned in the Las Vegas desert, and having the time of our lives.