The Incoherant Ramblings of a Poetic Compulsive: Essay: Poverty on Parade (part 3)

Part 3 – How I Got From Point B to Point A to Point C (Opportunity)

Before the World Trade Center happenings on 9/11, the average IT job in the Pacific Northwest paid really well. Shortly after it the economy started to decline and finding one at all was horrendously hard, and the average salaries slowly started to come down. While Dan to this day is still working at the same company he’s worked at since he was 17, I changed jobs every year. I went from the education service district job with Dan to a local credit union, and then to a hospital. I was there about a year when what I thought was my dream job finally came through for me. The local branch of the US Department of Energy called me to tell me I had been selected, after more than 6 months of deliberation, for the job I thought I always wanted. I was moving up. I was specializing. It takes either very large companies or large government entities to hire specialists that perform a very limited set of skills but perform them extremely professionally and pay them what they claim they are worth too. I was going to take some training, but still they saw potential in my youth and what experience and education I did have. There’s another whole book here, but suffice it to say, I was making more money than any 22 year old should be allowed to make. And with the increase of income, came an increase of debt and expenses. I don’t know why I couldn’t just put the rest away in savings…but we didn’t and it’s one of the largest regrets I have to this day. Some time in the summer of 2003 Charity and I got home from our weekly evening Bible study group, arriving home to our answering machine blinking and resounding a repetitive and obnoxious monotone beep. Someone had called and had left a message. Most of the time it was either my family or Charity’s with the occasional sales person or recorded message notifying us we’d been selected for something or had already won a free flight to Reno or Las Vegas, at which time we’d have to sit through conference about the product they were ultimate trying to sell to us or get us to sell for them. Pre-recorded messages like that left on a machine always start taping 30 seconds after the recording actually starts and almost always end before they can give the entire phone number; not that I was ever tempted to call it anyway. Needless to say we’d had a steady enough stream of those calls that any enthusiasm I might have previously had about checking my messages was long gone. I retired to the home office and proceeded to start a game of Minesweeper or Solitaire while Charity reluctantly began the business of seeing which merchant now wanted our attention. A few minutes later she entered the room where I was losing my digital card game and told me some guy had called for me about playing in a band. Well, it’s not every day you hear something like that. Charity’s tone was reluctant. I strolled into the kitchen to play back the message. “Hi, my name’s Bill Robinson” the scratchy recording seemed to say. Bill Robinson? As in, “Danger Bill Robinson, danger?” I chuckled to myself. Bill went on to state through the message that he was a member of a band that was presently looking for an “electric guitar player” and had somehow heard that I played and was interested in meeting with me if being part of a band at this time in my life was something I’d be willing to consider. I thought the phrasing of “an electric guitar player” to be odd, and to this day, I still do. I’d heard phrases like “rhythm guitar,” “lead guitar,” even “jellyfish guitar” or “nuance guitar” but never heard someone specify the use of an electric without mentioning the kind of playing that would be required of me. Well my curiosity was certainly sparked. The childhood dream of being part of a successful band had never really departed from me since that warm July night, and somewhere in the depths of my subconscious or unconscious brain I still convinced myself that God had something to that effect for me though I was doing nothing proactively to seek it out beyond the occasional flailing insecure prayer like a shotgun sends bits and pieces of led in a spattering pattern; more or less like a “hail marry” pass from a quarterback to an end zone rather than to a receiver. I must’ve somehow felt the opportunity would find me. I hadn’t played in a band for a couple of years now and probably never one so organized and focused on success on an occupational level. I was almost exclusively a bass player at this point anyway. I had my doubts about it, but the next day I called him anyway. We talked briefly and the information exchange was not very in-depth. It was suggested we should meet in person. Will Robertson, as I came to learn his actual name was, showed up at a small coffee shop attached to a Christian bookstore a couple miles from my house a few minutes late. His wife was with him, roughly 7 months pregnant at the time. We sat at a small table just big enough for a couple of coffee drinks. I sipped a grande-iced-mocha-light-ice-no-foam and he partook of an ice-tea-unsweetened-no-lemon. The usual pleasantries were exchanged briefly before we got down to business. I came with a piece of paper with a dozen or so questions scratched on it and he came with a manila folder. The name of the band that he sang lead vocal and played acoustic guitar for was “Savant”. Savant was a 6 piece folk/pop band. Summer Schar played acoustic guitar as well and sang both background vocals and lead vocals on a few songs that she wrote. Mark Daley played keyboard and sang a song or two as well. Alan Tangenal played drums and John Delmark, who was not a member but a contractor, played bass. The names meant nothing to me beyond general information’s sake, but finding out they were a 6-piece Christian folk/pop band was a detail that I found intriguing. The folk/pop groups I knew of were between 1 to 3 pieces at most and never had a dedicated electric guitar player. We chatted and I discovered the mission and ministry of the group was in fact Christ-centered and this sounded like something I was ready to take the first step with to find out more at the very least. Will gave me a couple of CD’s some sheets with words and chords on them. We prayed briefly at my request, as I was accustomed to doing at the beginning or end of a meeting of this nature engrained from my years of church attendance and functions.

Bazooka-Joe made it so at 4:50 PM

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Monday, August 01, 2005

Essay: Poverty on Parade (part 3)

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