The Sharp Ones and the Others

Being stupid is hard. Really, for most people, it’s one of the worst things one could be. Back in the old days, it was all about strength, but today is the age of the intellectual. Sure, you may be strong, but you aren’t a meathead, are you? You may be handsome, but do you have the brains? In a way, “being smart” is often a shorthand for being a person worth paying attention to. If you don’t match up, you might as well be a peasant, meant to stay away from the truly ensouled.

I spend a lot of time thinking about these things. In high school. I had to repeat a grade so many times that I just gave up and dropped out. And I knew I wouldn’t become a lawyer or anything, but it really did surprise me, how many low-level jobs demanded degrees. I suppose it makes sense, since everyone is so educated nowadays. Why would you want your groceries bagged by a high school dropout, when you could get it done by a cum laude graduate?

Back in school, they told us that the world will keep getting more and more complicated, and that we will have to keep up, or else we’ll be left behind. Well, I suppose I’m “left behind” now. But it really isn’t that bad. Instead of being out of breath in the middle of the race, I’m walking at my own pace in the back.

I tend to gravitate towards others like that. The ones in the back, doing their own thing – they’re just more interesting to me. One of those people was this old guy, Chester. I have no idea, if that’s his first or last name. Every day, he used to play the violin in the town square. After my shift ended, I’d go watch him from a nearby bench. When playing, he always had this enchanted expression, as if he was in his very own world. He could play for hours and hours – and at the end of the day, he would take the money from his cap and go out for a beer.

I wish I loved anything as much, as Chester loved his violin. When I first talked to him, I thought he was exaggerating. But it really was his life. He proudly told me how it was a family heirloom, and how his grandmother back in the village played it every day to ward off bad spirits. He even showed me some odd symbols carved into its neck, that supposedly had magic properties. He spoke about all this with such reverence, that one couldn’t help but admire the instrument the same way he did.

I made an effort to regularly talk to him. I kept thinking, that he must have been putting on some persona, but he really was nothing but honest. He’d tell me fantastic stories and claims about the world, and he said them with such conviction that it was hard not to believe him. One thing he loved talking about was the power of music, how it can connect directly to the spirit, direct it towards a higher ideal, uplift it, mesh it with the world and such. I asked if he meant it in a religious sense, and he laughed and said, that it all comes from the same place. But it’s not the same.

The thing with him was, he always seemed a bit out of place, plucked from an entirely different world. He had this whimsicality to him, that was off-putting to some. Maybe they thought it was fake, just like I did at first. But really, he had no higher intentions, nothing to hide, no reason to lie to anyone. I think all he really wanted was to play his violin, anything else was secondary.

Chester was not stupid, I have to emphasize that. He spoke simply and honestly, but was much smarter than I could ever be. He would have been a great village elder, if such a thing still existed. I suppose his one problem was, that he didn’t have that edge, that sharp, fast, precise kind of intelligence that the world demands. He’d give out great life advice, but he could never “use data-driven insights to enhance operational efficiency” and such.

One day, Chester came up to me as I was about to go home. He seemed a bit nervous, which was unusual for him. He asked me, if he needed a permit to play at the town square.

This was odd to me. As far as I knew, he had been playing for years, and I didn’t hear about any law changes. Why would anyone be asking for a permit now? I shared these thoughts with him, and he agreed, that he thought so too.

Apparently, a group of guys approached him while he was playing and asked him, if he had the permission. He told them he never needed one before and all, but they wouldn’t relent. They kept asking, if he was really sure that what he was doing was legal. Chester told me, proudly, that he told them to screw off.

But then his voice lowered a bit, as he asked, if I could look up if he actually didn’t need a permit. Just to be sure. I looked up the local busking laws – no permit was necessary, just as I thought. I showed him the website on my phone, but I could see looking at the screen was hurting his eyes. Some people are just not meant to look at screens. He asked if I could print it out for him, and so I did.

For the rest of the day, the whole situation wouldn’t leave my mind – there was just something off about it. I decided, that the next day, I would clock out early so I could be there in case those guys came by again.

To my dismay, they did. This was the first time I saw them in-person. There was about six of them. The first thing I noticed about them all, was that they looked like what one might call “trendy”, or “cool”, perhaps. Straight out of a billboard. I’ve never been a fan of people like that. It’s fine to dress nicely and all, but when someone looks exactly like what is in fashion, it gives me the creeps.

I guess it reminds me of all the mean rich kids I used to go to high school with. These people just had that same aura about them. But I didn’t want to assume anything, maybe my intuition was making up things.

Chester greeted them with a smile, as he did everyone. He showed them the printed-out website. Barely glancing at it, one of them asked why he didn’t just send a link. I stepped in and told them, that it was printed out yesterday, and that it doesn’t even matter, since the website clearly says, that no permit is necessary. They didn’t seem to like me very much.

Then the questions started. How long has he been playing? Is he verified with the city council? How much money does he regularly make? Chester tried to honestly answer, but before he could finish, they would bark another question at him, one after the other.

They spoke with so much authority and there were so many of them, it was hard to not at least be a bit intimidated. I tried to be useful, tried to push back and cut through the noise, but they mostly ignored me. Eventually, I snapped at them and asked who they even were, and they simply said they were “concerned with possible legalities”. I swear, as they said that, I could see one of them in the back smirk.

When they eventually left, I could see that Chester didn’t take the conversation well. This type of confrontation wasn’t what he was made for. He stayed silent for a moment, processing what just happened. Eventually, he simply declared that those guys were real ruffians. I agreed.

For weeks, they would come and do this every day, as if it was a hobby of theirs. I felt guilty, whenever I wasn’t there to help push back against them. I would always ask Chester what exactly they said to him. He would tell me, how they said he could accrue high fines for all those years playing without permission. How they said, that the police may have been gathering information on him, and that was why they haven’t stopped him yet.

I asked him, if he believed them, and he said, no, that of course he didn’t. That was a relief. Even then, I tried my best to explain to him, how unlikely all they said was, that these people were just making things up, for some godforsaken reason. We even made fun of them a bit, of the way they all talked the same, just to lighten the atmosphere.

But as they kept coming, that same big group, every single day, I could see that it was getting to him. He tried stay positive, but I noticed how tired he was getting of it all.

I tried, I really tried to make things better. I combed through all possible busking-related laws, trying to build a strong case, I looked up anti-harassment laws, to see if what they were doing would count as such. But really, it was all pointless – I knew, that no matter what I would show them, they would just ignore it, talk over it, defeat it with sheer numbers.

I wished, more than anything, that I could have been sharp enough to argue against them all. I dreamt about coming against them with a speech so good and eloquent, that they would have no choice but admit defeat. But I wasn’t that sharp, not by a mile. Whenever I attempted a verbal takedown, I couldn’t find the right words and my voice would shake. Looking back, even if I made the perfect speech – I don’t think they would have cared anyway. But I didn’t have much else to hope for.

One day, I just had enough. They were doing their usual thing – rapid questions, arguments, talking over each other about what vague, horrible things could happen to Chester, if he kept playing. What really got to me was when I looked over and saw how defeated he looked. He wasn’t even trying to fight back anymore. I realized, how much all this has drained him. And for what?

I just started yelling at them, that they were on a power trip, that Chester didn’t deserve all this, that they were just bullies with no authority whatsoever. They tried to talk over me, but I just kept yelling, louder and louder; I could barely hear myself.

A police officer came over. He asked, what all the noise was about. And of course, those guys told him that I was attacking them, and that I was trying to defend Chester for playing illegally. It angered me even more, that they just outright claimed that, but I tried my best to quiet down, now that the police was here.

The officer didn’t seem too fazed. He turned to us and said, that illegal busking can carry a heavy fine. And I wanted to tell him that Chester wasn’t doing anything illegal, that he played for many years without problems, that so many police officers walked past without saying a thing, that he was making his money in an honest way, and that people loved his music, because he really played through the heart.

Something came over me, though. Second to second, all the anger in me dissipated as I realized, that none of these people actually cared. Without thinking, I just turned around and left. I went straight home and slept through the rest of the day.

After this incident, Chester relented and stopped playing. I tried my best to encourage him, to convince him to go out there and do it again, even if he had to argue with them a thousand times, but he didn’t want to hear it. I told him that the public needed his music, to uplift their souls and all, and that he wasn’t actually doing anything illegal. He muttered something about “dealing with things much bigger than he was”. I spent a good while trying to convince him, but the more I did it, the crueler it felt. And so I stopped.

I talked to my manager and got him a job at the same store I work at. He’s a cashier now, and wears that same awful bright red vest I do. He keeps telling me how much he hates staring into those cash register screens, how it strains his eyes, how the endless radio music drowns out his thoughts.

What’s hilarious is, that after Chester stopped playing, those cool guys started playing their own music at the town square. I heard them saying, that it really was a great spot. They always hand out fliers about them and their future concerts and such. They’re having decent success actually, I heard them mentioned on the radio. They say that they have an indie, punk-influenced sound. There’s nowhere to go but up for them.

I have to admit, it’s a bleak world out there. But I haven’t given up yet: I have a plan. I will take out all my savings, in cash, and give it all to Chester. He’d never accept it of course, so maybe I’ll just stuff it into his coat pockets. Then, I’ll come in and light their equipment on fire, maybe go at it with a hammer and such. Really trash it, make a scene out of it. I’ll go to jail, obviously, I’ll be there with all the other losers, and all the smart people will be making tv specials about how we’re wasting taxpayer money. I think it will be fun.

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Pub: 07 Apr 2025 19:00 UTC

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