Spain is in crisis, ok, we know – people have been going on about it for a while now. People don’t have any money, again, we know – I am sometimes one of them (ok, I have no right to complain…that’s my own fault)
But what is with the buskers? There are days when I can’t get on the metro without some *insert any age at all* year old “musician” getting on and ruining my nice, relaxing metro journey. Let me share my rage with you all. One of two things happen:
You are reading your book (hopefully my poetry book….plug plug)
You are getting really into it when you hear the familiar sounds of wheels rolling and spare change chinking.
Then comes the short speech ‘Good morning/ afternoon/ evening/ middle of night / 7am rush-hour, yes I am a moron Ladies and Gentlemen. Apologies for the disturbance but a little music for your good selves on your journey’
You will yourself to block it out. You try so hard you think your ears might bleed but you fail.
Then the music starts and you are relatively certain your ears are actually bleeding.
Is that a Russian lady singing a Spanish version of I have Nothing by Whitney Houston, you wonder?
One more stop and it is over, although the ringing in your ears isn’t going away anytime soon.
‘A contribution for the music?’ she asks as she walks up and down the carriage.
You ignore her and try to get back into your book but now you are only one stop away from work and you are not going to find out what happened.
You resist the urge to put your foot through her speaker.
You’re listening to Drake’s new album
People are looking at you a little oddly because you are semi dancing but you are not actually bothering anyone (ok, this one might not apply to you)
Suddenly you realise that your favourite song is next
It starts and you think to yourself ‘this doesn’t sound quite right, I’m sure no rapper ever used an accordion in any of his songs..???’
Suddenly you can hardly hear Drake at all
You look up and there he is, and he’s not alone.
There are three of them: one with the squeeze box, one a guitar and the other one singing.
You turn the volume up on your music and realise that it doesn’t make any difference, in fact all you are achieving is possibly causing your own deafness and the last thing you ever hear just might be an accordion.
You give up, remove your earphones and mutter to yourself.
The music finally stops – at least you think it does but your hearing is so far gone now you can’t be sure.
They walk past to ask for money.
You glare like you can burn holes in their heads with your eyes.
One of these scenarios seems to always happen to me these days. Actually, I was being kind with just the two. It seems you can’t swing a cat without hitting a busker on the Madrid metro, and trust me, I would like to hit a busker. Eventually I get over my rage as I mumble to myself on the way to catch my connecting train. I maybe text my friend to complain to her about it and am just about over it as I put my earphones back in, check the wait time for the next train and look down the platform to see…yup, you guessed it….a man with an accordion.
I quietly wonder if I could be prosecuted for tripping over close to him just as the train comes in and maybe, accidentally knocking his accordion out onto the tracks but damn it, if he isn’t just a little too far away.