“What exactly is Open Mike?” asks the old guy sitting at the bar.
 I think for a minute and tell him, “It’s like The Gong Show, but less judgmental.  Everybody gets three songs and even if you’re god-awful, the other musicians clap out of professional courtesy.”
 “So it’s like Karaoke?”
 That hurts.  “Hey, we all play acoustic guitar and sing without a teleprompter, so no, it’s not like –“
 “Well, if you’re in charge of this thing, how come that fat guy’s on stage asking everyone trivia questions?”
 “That’s Guido, the owner’s nephew.  Every Tuesday before Open Mike, he gets to emcee Quiz Night and give away some prizes.  I think he’s an aspiring comedian.”
 “Tell him not to quit his day job.”
  I have this conversation with someone every week, but his uncle pays me, so what’s a gigging man to do?  When somebody is a regular customer, you can’t exactly tell them their dog is an ugly mutt.  I give the old guy a nod and walk over to the stage.  It looks like we’re at a live radio show because Guido is up there sitting at a table reading into a microphone.  With his trucker cap and ratty flannel shirt, I’m convinced he wants to be Escondido’s answer to Larry the Cable Guy.
 “Yo, Jackson!” he says to me off the mike. “Can I get an extra fifteen minutes?  I’m running late again.”
 Like I have a choice.  “No more than that, Guido; I have four people waiting to play.”
 As usual, fifteen minutes turns into twenty, but to his credit, he does have a crowd of rowdy friends up front competing for prizes and drinking shots.  I wonder how many he’s comping them.
 My buddy Jersey Bill strolls in with his Martin and joins me at the bar.  He’s retired, but he can still belt out a mean Dylan. “Good evening, young man.  Is that bum running over again?”
 “You know the deal, Bill; so many stale jokes, so little time.”
 “Yeah, what a waste.  You know, if they let you start earlier, you could probably make this into one of the better Open Mikes; it’s a good venue.”
 He’s right, it is a good venue.  The sound system’s great and the place has decent lights.   The stage is probably the best part: it sits right next to the entrance and the back of the stage is actually the front window, so everybody walking down the main strip can see you inside playing.  As long as musicians don’t mind the front patio smokers staring at their derrieres, they’d have to say it was perfect.
 Here comes Lena who’s been here for an hour already.  “Jackson, you’re not going to make me play last again, are you?”
 “What can I do?  You sing too well.  Nobody wants to follow you.”
 “Not fair!”
 “Relax, I’m kidding.  I’ll give you the prime slot right in the middle.  And do the Irish song about the mermaid, my wife likes that one.”
 “Is she here?”
 “Yeah, she’s having dinner in back.  Go say hello, she’d like that.”
 Jersey Bill hands me the pint he just bought me and the negotiations begin. “You playing lead guitar for me tonight?”
“Absolutely, but no Queen Jane Approximately.  With Guido shafting me on time, I’m going to have enough trouble getting everyone on without any 10-minute Dylan songs, okay?”
 We clink beer glasses and seal the deal just as Guido begins announcing tonight’s winners.  Whenever he looks in my direction, I study my watch in an attempt to speed up the proceedings.   It doesn’t work, so it’s another ten minutes before I’m on stage double-timing my set up.  When I’m finished, I play a sound check song and Open Mike gets underway.  Terry the Marine sings some 80s ballads to his wife, then a girl from South Park plays originals and sells a few CDs.   After Jersey Bill’s set, Lena comes on and brings the house down with her stellar voice.  I do some slide guitar work for an old blues aficionado from Valley Center, a couple of newbies from the coast serenade their girlfriends, and then it’s last call and the end of the show.
 Overall, not a bad night.  The two online ads and the classified blurb in the local paper are kicking in, not to mention the musicians who hear about it at other Open Mikes from Jersey Bill and Lena.  I’m feeling optimistic.  Since I took over the show two months back for a friend who moved to L.A., I’ve been keeping the crowd and bringing in a solid lineup of players. The pay is so-so, but that could change with continued good turnouts.
 The last customer to leave is the old guy at the end of the bar.  He gives me a ‘thumbs up’ before he heads out the door.  I’m feeling good, but then Doris the night manager gives me a shot on the house.  In most places I play, they throw me a few free drinks, but not here; this is uncharacteristic and I’m immediately suspicious.
 “So Ed didn’t call you?  He was supposed to.  He’s decided he wants to try something else on Tuesdays, so starting next week, Guido’s doing Karaoke after Quiz Night.  Sorry about the short notice.  Ed said he was going to give you a call, but I guess he forgot.”
 Like a good politico, I am gracious in defeat and burn no bridges.  “No problem, Doris.  Maybe I’ll swing by and sing one next week.”
 I settle me tab, drink my severance pay, and walk out with as much dignity as I can muster.  ‘Don’t take everything personally’ my wife keeps telling me, ‘You’re a business man.’  She’s right, of course, but bad habits are hard to break.
 EPILOGUE:  At this point, you might think this is a cynical tale about nepotism or the down-trodden life of a frustrated musician, but it’s actually about silver linings and keeping the faith.  As it turned out, Karaoke and Quiz Night were cancelled a month later ( just like me).  I guess Guido wasn’t much of a singer.  On the other hand, I ended up joining the band Lena put together and now we play down the street at the biker bar.  Jersey Bill and I have become good friends and we do showcases around town these days; in fact, he flew me back to Newark to accompany him at his daughter’s 40th birthday party.  All and all, I guess things didn’t turn out too bad for me.  Oh, and one more thing: how ya like them apples, Guido!