Find your tribe in a Sea of Creativity
Leonard was frustrated with his job. Confetti and glitter were strewn all around the street, the after effects of yet another towering crescendo that may have brought the house down, but he knew someone had to clean that house afterwards.
Every night another big song and dance number on the street and he’d be left to pick up the pieces, literally, and prepare the street for the next melodic go around. He had long railed against the injustice of the world he lived in.
“Musicals are no good for folks who can’t hold a note!” he would complain closing his bedroom window on some starlets nasally solo number. “You can hold a broom though so get to work!” his wife would bark at him, her tones anything but dulcet.
He could see the vocalists and background dancers heading off to their narrative cut off points, another day, another decibel. As he was sweeping away the debris on Gilbert Avenue, his boss Sullivan approached him with a stranger in tow.
“Len, this here is Bernie, he’s new to musical celluloid and eager to work the streets.” The stranger spoke, “I just wanna see where the big numbers happen!” Len barely saluted the new arrival.
Their work went slowly. Last night had seen sixty distinct performers strut their stuff and leave behind their waste. Neither hummed while they worked as any musical activity from custodians was rather unfairly frowned upon.
“Can’t believe I’m working on Main Street.” Bernie beamed, his naive optimism as annoyingly catchy as any ditty.
Len gave a non committal grunt.
“This is where it all happens. Ballads belted out, where happy endings are gloriously choreographed. I worked on stage before. That’s easy to clean. You just collapse the backdrop!” He looked around as he spoke, dazzled by his surroundings. “This is a real back-lot...”
Leonard interrupted Bernie’s prattling with a long drawn out sigh. Bernie took this less than graceful hint and the duo continued to sweep in silence.
It was outside the Busby Theatre when the new recruit piped up once again, his voice softer and more measured this time, the giddy cadence of his previous patter now absent.
“I actually work two jobs. But my dream is...Well it’s...”
Leonard snapped. “ Let me guess! To make it! To duet with Margaret Byrne on some lavish show! I get it. You’re here, but you haven’t even started singing and I’m already sick of your voice! We just clean the place for all the pompous High Notes, all right?!”
Bernie was stunned. After collecting himself for a few moments he launched into the most beautiful a capella version of a song Len had never heard before. Everyone in the complex, nearby workers, the Silent Union as they were called, stopped and took notice of Bernie’s undeniable talent. After this haunting rendition had ended a humbled Leonard remarked, “Wow”.
He looked at Bernie. “Where else did you say you worked?”
“Down the street,” Bernie replied with a smile, “at a barbershop.”