Bandwagon Column: Why the second night was shite

WHY THE SECOND NIGHT WAS SHITE by the piano player/dishwasher I had been drinking heavily the night before, it was a rainy, windy, shitty morning, I had work, someone called in sick, it was busy. Every so often, you get handed a real stinker of a day. My heart was pounding liquid tar around my shuddering excuse for a human body. A tiny demon was attacking my throat with a metal file. Plates clanged and crashed a demented symphony beyond my comprehension. Towers of glasses accumulated on the bench, refracting the glare of fluorescent lights overhead. My head throbbed. Steam in my face. I emptied the cutlery bucket in the sink: ear-splitting crash. It was punk rock, shards of hard metal reflecting light. Somewhere in the bright lights and loud noises I began to somewhat enjoy the day. An old couple asked me inane questions as I was clearing tables. Did they notice my wan smile, and that my face was drained of colour? Did they realise that really I was having the time of my life? I wish I could have explained the situation to them. You see, I had lost my self somewhere in the kitchen. I was floating around on a tranquil cloud of ego-less-ness. With each THRUMP of my headache my soul sang with joy. I think this is how you feel just before you die. I managed to snatch half an hour of sleep before the show that night. It wasn't enough, I was low on energy and dragged the show down with me. The director was disappointed. I'm sorry.-Stephanie Cairns