About a week ago, I got a call from a bride-to-be. She and her fiancé were taking their third shot at their nuptials that coming Saturday, and they wanted to hire my company to run karaoke for their after-party. Apparently their previous two shots were whittled down from a few hundred guests in May to about 75 in August and then to fewer than 50 that weekend. But they wanted to do it, and they wanted karaoke.
In the past, I would’ve thought that, if given the chance to choose between my livelihood and my health, I’d choose my health every time. But, what if getting sick wasn’t guaranteed? What if it’s just a possibility, but a much more real, pressing possibility is? Bankruptcy, which cannot be mitigated, because bankruptcy doesn’t give a shit how many feet apart you are.
Ten gigs in the midst of an all-consuming plague might not seem that bad, but keep in mind, due to bars and restaurants being forced to operate at a mere fraction of their capacity, the ones still standing—the ones offering us these gigs—are not able to pay us anything remotely resembling our regular rate. It now takes me about five gigs to earn what I’d normally earn from one. Weddings are even worse.
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