It was so amazing, like an out-of-body experience. We see them on Craigslist, we laugh and point fingers, we're like, "Oh, those kooky kids, will they never learn?" But nothing, my friends, prepares you for staring down one of these 7/8" tubed monstrosities in its natural habitat.
The wind was crackling through the aisles, the wan fluorescent lighting far above cast an ill pallor on this hapless pile of percussion, and the incessant chatter of fellow shoppers became a wailing din in my ears.
I stumbled, as if stricken, against a stack of Playstation 3 games. All my life, spent in awe of these majestic freaks of nature... and suddenly, to come nose-to-nose with one. The experience was humbling, disturbing, and frightening.
At that moment, it occurred to me that for all the importance that us drummers place on ourselves... for all the millions of words bandied about on these threads... for the zillions of dollars we've all spent on the latest direct-drive quadruple-bass pedal, the hundreds of hours we've tried to get that 15" floor tom tuned decently, the endless discussions over reading or not reading... it all boils down to this.
The average person not only DOES NOT KNOW what we do, he DOES NOT CARE.
I left Costco that day a bitter, broken and dispirited soul. My illusions were forever shattered and I burned every drumstick I owned that night in my fireplace, tears streaming down my face. My wife stared at me, dissolute in knowing that my world had come crashing down around me, but unawares as to how to fix what man had wrought.
I walk these empty streets now, a quiet, hollow husk that was once able to bring crowds to their feet with a flurry of well-timed quads and crossover accents. I reflect back to the days when I was blissfully unaware and able to delude myself, that any of it mattered....
...wow, that was some REALLY bad Thai food I had last night (urrrrp)