The Wedding Gig

Today I iddled my fiddle at a wedding. Previous posts have indicated how I feel about weddings, but that's not going to stop me from getting a wedge of wedding cash should the opportunity arise. Wedding musicians really have it sweet when you compare the hell we get to the super-duper hell that wedding photographers, florists and caterers get. A wedding musician just needs to remember when to start playing and when to stop playing. I witnessed the photographer at this wedding trying to get three tiny flower girls and one tiny ring bearer to hold still and not pick anything for three seconds so he could get a picture. This took twenty minutes and ten adults standing behind the photographer giving stentorian directives. I watched the florist assemble forty table arrangements, seven bouquets and ten of those pin-on flower deals while equipping ALL of the bridesmaids and the bride with emergency tampons (gonna be a great honeymoon) and whipping out safety pins, needles and thread and duct tape whenever anyone needed anything. This gal knew her stuff. Across the parking lot, the caterer was doing a final assembly on the wedding cake while giving orders to ten stoned cater-waiters (apparently, the groom got nervous and found himself out back with the waiters, who decided to help him calm down). The thing that always slays me about weddings is that there are ALWAYS three characters present--the criminally ancient family matriarch hooked up to an oxygen tank, the cousin who comes dressed like a Saigon whore and The Anorexic Chick. This time Ancient Matriarch was not only hooked up to an oxygen tank, but stone deaf and not shy about asking people to repeat themselves by saying "WHAT?" every ten seconds. The Saigon Whore arrived in a micro-mini denim skirt and tube top (and she was not what I'd call svelte) and wearing seven-inch-high cork platforms that laced up her legs to her dimply knees, AND she persisted in talking on her cell phone throughout the ceremony, presumably explaining to her pimp why she'd be late for her turn on Hollywood Boulevard. Anorexic Chick showed up in a strapless backless frontless number that pretty much screamed to the world "I weigh seventy pounds and I'm proud of it". The wedding party got to see Saigon Whore fall flat on her considerable ass, taking an usher down with her. Anorexic Chick gave in to the overwhelming air conditioning and went around trying to beg some clothing off the other guests, then positioned herself in a ray of sun and went to sleep. Ancient Matriarch did everybody a favor by not actually dying, so nobody really cared that she kept speculating loudly about the groom's heritage, financial position, political affiliations and potency. I did my thing when I was supposed to, the couple got married and someone quietly cleaned up the flower-girl pee during the ceremony so nobody slipped on the way out (probably that hyper-organized florist). I made a hundred bones--not too shabby for standing still and fiddling for about a minute.