Name: Mikey
Age: 36
Description: That guy at every band night that everyone kind of wishes wasn't there
In every city there is a run down dive bar that passers-by assume has been abandoned by humanity years ago due to the occasional scurrying rat and wooden boards covering the windows. To some extent, those passers-by would be right, except for every 2nd Tuesday night of each month. This is the night that 10 of the worst local heavy bands will come share a 4 hour bill playing their unique flavor of death metal. This is the night that Mikey waits for all month.
Mikey arrives at the bar wearing his best (and only) Slayer shirt and a ripped sleeveless denim jacket covered in poorly sewn patches of bands he honestly doesn't listen to. With his confidence at an all time high knowing he remembered to shower for the first time in a week, he makes his way to the bar where he orders their cheapest beer on tap.
At this point the bands are loading in and Mikey knows it is his duty to go and tell each member how brutal they are and that its going to be a good night. The members all politely respond with a "yeah man" still unsure if Mikey is in another band, just another drunken promoter, or even at any point just going move out of their way so they can continue loading their gear through the doorway. After 10 years of showing up to the same bar Mikey is convinced all the band members know him, and he knows tonight that the show is all about him. The band members hope that after 10 years he will finally buy their $5 EP.
As the first band starts to chug through their monotonous single note (completely unique because its in a lower tuning then the last band to be more brutal) Mikey has now embraced the moment. Looking down with his long hair flowing ungraciously past his stomach, he reefs his head up, and looks straight back down. He has now began the signature headbang, only spilling half a beer on the photographer next to him.
As the night goes on Mikey has managed to tell everyone at one point or another about 'that brutal song that Napalm Death plays" but he cant remember the name of it so he persists to airdrum going 'duhduhduhduh' as if suddenly his unwilling conversational participants will turn around and go "oh yeah, that song, I know it."
He then stumbles to the merch desk where he tells the 20yo merch chick that the shirt artwork is really good. She asks which one he wants, but as Mikey sips on his 10th $4 beer of the night he says he is out of cash, but then asks for her number. She awkwardly declines, and after a few seconds of silence, Mikey then tells her about that brutal Napalm Death song for the second time that night.
At the end of the night Mikey walks home. He knows he's supported and built this scene over the last 10 years.... even though hes never put on a show, bought any merch, and is probably responsible for driving more people away from the bar then all the consistently bad performances combined.
On the 2nd Wednesday of the month, Mikey looks at his calendar and starts his count to do it all over again. What a brutal night.
