Here’s one of my dirty little secrets: I hate show days.
Everyone thinks that the performances are one of the coolest parts of my job.
They probably envision me hanging out backstage, drinking beer with the band and eating dinner in the green room with the likes of Cyndi Lauper, Keb’ Mo’ and Travis Tritt.
That’s not how my shows days go at all.
I usually spend my time running back and forth between mollycoddled artists, exhausted technicians, pissed off tour managers, pushy promoters, demanding audience members and cranky city employees trying to make sure they are all happy.
They are never all happy.
When the show finally starts and everyone else is enjoying the music, I’m calculating tickets sales, adding up bills and defending every little expense to that pissed off tour manager in an effort to settle the show.
And then I get the privilege of handing most of the profits over to the artist.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a bad job. I know I don’t have a bad job.
Sometimes it’s just frustrating that the most enviable part of my job is the part that actually sucks the most.