Crazy Person At Queen's Park

Today I realized that I’m averaging a dollar a song. Isn’t that the same as iTunes?

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I arrived at Queen’s Park station at 6:30 p.m. and started looking for the yellow dots. I was scheduled for the “evening shift” which meant I could show up any time between 6 p.m. and midnight. The crowds were slim all along the University line, because many of the government and hospital workers in the area had already gone home.

When I couldn’t find the dots, I asked the ticket booth attendant, who told me the performance area had recently changed. He thought he’d heard a musician “somewhere over there…but I hope not, cause it’d be cold”.

True, I thought, as I headed in the direction he pointed and found myself in a very long hallway leading away toward the street exits. When I found the yellow dots, they were at the foot of a deep escalator and stairwell, directly underneath College and University and the Ontario Hydro building.

In fact, it wasn’t actually cold. It was, however, scary—like the bottom of a deep dark well. A skylight overhead revealed that the sun had already gone down. A few people trickled down the escalator and walked toward the station with their backs to me. Meanwhile, the well-lit subway station and ticket booth seemed miles away.

Hmm. I looked around for a minute or two, considering whether or not to stay. When I noticed that professional-looking people were coming down the escalator at a steady pace, I decided to give the location a try, and started to unpack. However, something told me not to display my CDs with my name on them, and I was particularly cautious while sprinkling the seed money into my guitar case.

The acoustics made me feel hopeful as I started to sing “Room to Love”. The very high vaulted ceiling, combined with the tile floor and walls, gave the little dark corner a church-like atmosphere.

Halfway into the second verse, a professional-looking middle aged man (a doctor, perhaps?) made a point of stopping to dig in his pocket and throw me a dollar.

But then, just a few bars later, I heard a weird wailing sound coming down the escalators toward me. I sang, and the wailing increased in response. Oh no. Whoever it was was coming down the escalators directly toward me. And he was interested in the music.

The man who emerged was a very large, drunk, toothless and apparently crazy man. He seemed about three times my height and weight. He was talking to me loudly but was difficult to understand because he was drunk and speaking with a heavy accent. I couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying, but I sure noticed him kick my guitar case.

Was he aggressive? Or just excited? It was hard to tell. But I figured it was probably safer to assume he was trying to be friendly, and to respond nicely to him so he wouldn’t get mad.

Looking him in the eye and smiling, I asked him how long he’d lived in Toronto. (25 years.) Where was he from? (Africa, he said at first. But then a few sentences later he said Milwaukee. Milwaukee?!) Then he asked me if I knew any African music, which he evidently was trying to describe to me. I responded that unfortunately I was just leaving (even though I hadn’t even finished my first song) and started packing up my things. Meanwhile a small crowd had gathered, no doubt due to the fact that a huge drunken man was looming over a tiny female singer-songwriter and yelling at her.

“Do you need any help, Miss?” one man asked me.

“Yes.” (What did it look like?!!) “Go tell the TTC guy in the booth.”

They left, leaving me alone with the guy. Brilliant.

I kept smiling at him and saying nice calming things, while I hoisted up my guitar case and backpack. Blessedly, he said goodbye and lumbered up the stairs.

So, lesson learned. I resolved not to play solo in darkened corridors where no
TTC employee could see me.

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I played half a song at Queen’s Park and earned one loonie. There you go, a dollar a song.