Concert goers live in a world they believe to be loud and free. But there is, unheard by most, an outer world, a barrier between in and out, just as loud but not as free as they thought — the world outside a venue, where the door guy simply wants you to pay the cover charge. Welcome to a few nights in the life of Tin Roof's door dude, Rex Stickel.
These two old guys come out and start passing an oil pen around. After explaining four or five times he's in town visiting from Michigan, one of them announces, "God, I'm thirsty," and disappears back into the bar. The other guy looks over at me, holding onto the bush I'm sitting next to.
Guy: "What's this called?"
Me: "....huh? The bush?"
Guy: "Yeah what's this called...?"
He walks to the door.
Guy: "I know it's called...something. Anyway..."
Lady: "Do you work here? Is it OK if we park here? Do you know what time the band starts? Who's playing first?"
Me: "Yes...yes...yes...There's a $7 cover for the show tonight."
Lady: "Are they set up already? Did one of the bands cancel?"
Me: "You got one more question and then the cover is $10."
Me: "Hey man we're taking a $7 cover tonight."
Guy: "Seven dollars? What if I'm here just to get wings?"
Me: "..wings..? Oh, you're looking for Home Team?"
Me: "You gotta keep going down the road for Home Team."
Guy: "Really? Why?"
Say what you will about the redistribution of wealth, but if you keep money wadded up in wrinkled clumps, you shouldn't have any.
My smile starts to slip away as the girl leaning over to talk to me is steadily pouring her drink on my leg.
Two men in matching golf course polos walk up.
Me: "What's up guys? We're having a show tonight and we're taking a five dollar cover."
Guy: "Wait a second — you got credentials?"
Me: "Me? Credentials? Hold on, let me grab a City Paper."
Guy: "That's all right fella, we believe you."
Guy comes storming out of the bar.
Guy: "You see a curly headed hippie out here?"
Me: "It's Friday night man, you gotta be more specific."