Stump The Chump

“I’m kind of a big deal,” he tells a woman at the bar.

He’s kind of a big dick. At least he is to me.

I play piano at the lounge he frequents.

The only time I talked to him was my second gig there. He was sullen drunk and impressed with his musical knowledge.

“I lived in Nashville so I’ve heard good music.”

“You’re not in Nashville anymore,” I said clunking deliberately on my Roland.

Then he went headlong into the standard “Drunk Guy Requests Songs You Don’t Know Schtick.”

That’s when a patron, usually under the influence of alcohol, stands at the keyboard and requests an obscure tune. Its usually a song no one else requests, often a forgettable melody with hackneyed lyrics, sometimes it’s a composition no one but the inebriate knows about.

Always, it’s a ploy to deem the entertainer amateurish and incompetent.

This guy, the big deal guy, he requested two songs he insisted were country music gems.

“Never heard of 'em" was my response.

Then he asked, “Can you play 'Desperado' by the Eagles?”

“Sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I was just tryin to stump ya.”

“No trying there, my friend. You did what you set out to do.”

He laughed, put a five spot in my jar and went back to his cups.

Then, after a song by Billy Joel, without announcement, I played 'Desperado.'

And, Mr. Big Deal, he was looking deep into his glass, deep into his past, out riding fences, flying like an eagle looking for someone or something to put back into its place.