So just before Christmas a guy walks into my place and starts talking about all the money I owe his organization. It’s a corrupt, venal group, loathed by over 90% of its own members, operating a de facto monopoly; in other words it’s the local performing rights society.
I’ve had problems with these guys over the years, with them wanting money for me having music equipment and me saying that’s for private use, (we’re a mixed use property). After years of threats from them, and no action, on that front, they recently have tried to take me to court re money for bands playing here. Because I make no money and because the events are more or less private in terms of most of the audience and the musicians being part of the community based around my place, I’ve objected to this.
So we talk. He puts his point of view, I put mine, he doesn’t acknowledge mine, and after about 5 minutes I start to get angry. Not angry, like male angry, but enough so my voice lowered in tone and my eyebrows came down a bit.
So the guy reads me.
You know the kind who’s eyes spring wide, breath speeds up and some indeterminate form of stammer begins? One of those.
So he fumbled in his case, took out a form and said ‘here-are-the-rates-if you-want-to-know-no-problem-bye’ fast, and started sidling toward the door.
I asked, ( a small self revelation of the wickedness of the female heart ), if he wanted to talk more so I’d know not to inadvertently cross their rules, but he just said ‘no worry’, as he half ran out the door.
And I sat and thought to myself why I was putting so much stress and effort into presentation and passing, rather than trusting to the wisdom of such providence as I’d just been party to.