Peer pressure

By R.S. Hakes, On-Line Forty-Niner

Monday, October 5, 1998

Recently, an incident that occurred in the cozy confines of my home has me concerned.

First, let me clarify the crazy conditions in which I live. My front door does not work right. People come in, but they never seem to find their way back out. The drunkards and local dregs of society, many of whom are musicians, enter my sanctuary and never leave.

Last week, I had the rare opportunity of finding my nightly dwelling empty. I was enjoying the silence and marveling at the pressure induced sound my ice cold beer made as I twisted off the cap, when my door burst open. Someone I did not recognize stormed into my living room.

Apparently, this concerned musician had sniffed out the fact that I was going to be responsible for reviewing her recently released album. I was immediately subjected to a relentless barrage of verbal threats concerning my ability to do her musical offering justice.

Believe me when I say this was no joking matter, not in her eyes at least. She was frantically waving her arms and pacing around the room in an attempt to explain to me that her musical ability was beyond all others, that she was the best and to hell with the rest.

At this point, I took a step back and tried to grasp what was really going on here. I looked around and realized I had powered through five more beers in an attempt to calm my rattled nerves.

Such a blatant invasion of privacy can be severely discomforting, especially when someone is yelling at you at a distance less than one centimeter. My face was dripping with spittle.

One hour and several beers later, the episode ended, somewhat, peacefully. Nobody was rushed to the hospital or admitted to a psychiatric ward.

It was an interesting evening to say the least. I put up with lawless mayhem like this and for what? For you, of course, my dear reader.