More than meets the eye
Celine Dion: possibly the single most un-influencial artist in the business. No one cares about this woman. Not the musicians, not the management, not even her biggest fans since they are too retarded for anything above secundary emotion.
Since she has so little meaning to us, her reputation is something of a white canvas that allows itself to be painted by any experiences this morning, when we built her set. And some experiences they were.
This has got to be the most unprofessional shit I’ve ever had to deal with in my life. All morning, I did nothing. I was told, as one of the "loader" crew, whatever the fuck that would mean, to sit tight with the trucks. We unloaded a couple of them with a small horde of a crew and for the rest of the day, played with our balls. And then got finger pointed because we weren’t working. I am the fucking, first in a truck and last one out. It’s not my damn fault they give me the order to do nothing, and no, when I see 6 people pass by on 2 medium-sized cases, I don’t jump up and help. Sue me.
One of the figuratively two things I had in my hands, was a transformer. It’s something to do with the power source of the whole (out of proportion) gig, look it up and if you want pretty pictures, google "The Power Shop". Imagine a small wardrobe sized fucker of several hundred kilo’s, bolted inside a steel cage of about another 150 kilo. It took a small army to get it off the truck, after which I turned around to take the next case of the day, letting the crew outside the truck deal with it.
Around an hour later my crew chief came to me with a couple questions. Apparently, only two of us had tried to get this transformer out, and it had fallen out of the truck and was now badly damaged. I rolled my eyes and told him my part of the story. They took it back up; and yes, the transformer was damaged. Something had punched a big dent in the corner, strangely without damaging the cage.
I got up today at 4am. Worked until 12, ate, went home, passed out on my couch.
Got a phonecall waking me up: my crew chief again, to work out what on earth had happened to that transformer. Once again I told him my side of the story. By now I had heard enough of this whole production and their fingerpointing, nagging bitching and masturbating over small shit no one can do a fuck about anymore.
Half an hour later, my cell phone again. My employer, apparently they had called him to sort things out, even though he wasn’t even there when it happened. The story they sold him was this -And get this-
Going inside the venue is a rather steep slope of 20 meters or more. It’s broad and has walls on either side, but just by the bottom there’s the crew and artist catering, so you have to be real careful with heavy cases around there. The real story, without the, haha, little misunderstanding putting the blame on me, was that they took it down there with only two of them, and it had crashed into one of the concrete stairs down there, which are by the way located halfway inside the venue.
So what they were saying was, this massive chunk of metal, with two obviously very unexperienced local roadies attached, went practically freely down the ramp, which would mean it had deadly speed by the time it was down, crashing into the stairs without hurting anyone. Alright. These stairs have no protrusions, so that would mean that the shock wout have gone through the (undamaged) steel cage and cause the transformer to be damaged. And No One Would Have Fucking Noticed? This would have caused a bang going through the entire building, but no one caught it because they happened to be looking the other way. Video controls were being set up just nearby, but they must have missed it, you know, too busily tapping controls to notice concrete exploding 10 meters from him, which by the way, it didn’t.
My guess? Put the thumbscrews on the forklift driver, because he planted his fork through the cage.
And let me fucking sleep.