The summer music festival circuit has become the place for budding entrepreneurs to cut their teeth. Gone are the anarcho-hippie, jobless crusties, who've actually been kept out of festivals with an entrance fee and bands you recognise since Michael Eavis and Mean Fiddler built the £1 trillion pound 'superfence' around the Glastonbury site in 2002. They weren't that annoying Michael, and it's a lot less wild and passionate but much more boring and bland without them.
In their place for the last 6-odd years have been the commercial kids, commanded by the mainstream. And now floating along beside them are these 15-year old 'venturers', buoyed up by the knowledge they've gained from watching a bit of The Apprentice. That crap ideas, lying and cheating really do work if you're cocksure and have the top prize in prattle.
Take the noughties' version of Cool Hand Luke, who we met at that Zoo Thousand festival last weekend. The opposite of the original, non-conformist character from the Paul Newman film, this opportunist was more interested in making a few bob than confronting a load of bobbies. But cool he was, as he attempted to call our bluff with his latest scam. Spotting a chance to exploit other people's unfortunate circumstances, he approached us as we were hanging out in the 'car park field', wondering whether we should pitch our tent or sleep in the car. They'd run out of room in the camping field and couldn't issue any more camping passes. Or some such nonsense.
He was offering second-hand camping wristbands he'd found in the dirt for a tenner. Oh, but hang on, he'd fixed them back together, with the words 'camping pass' almost readable again, by, wait for it, melting a plastic bag and using that as a glue - an eco-friendly hippie he definitely wasn't. What a hero! Attempting to rescue us from an uncertain night in the 'car park field'. Saving us from being at the mercy of the spotty, fluorescent 'Reboot Security', who had orders to shoot their mouths off at all who tried to put their tents up there.
Yet although this Luke was really cool - with his curly afro hair that was pretty fly for a white boy, and you know, the way he smoked his Marlboro Light out of the corner of his mouth with that slight tilt of his head, so he looked down his nose as he was tying his Converse-laces - we didn't buy it. He lost the sale, but still managed to convince me to add him as a contact in my phone, just in case we changed our minds. Boy, he was good. Later after a few beers, we considered phoning his number to cut a deal with him, involving us sitting in the car drinking, while he put up our tent. We were going to start at 50p. But the call went to voicemail. Business must be booming. Or he was tucked up in bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment