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I am a big fan of things going wrong during the setup. The meaning of this is, that if, during the final rehearsal, something is amiss, there is time to fix it.
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Here, in my country, we have a saying: “Generalprøven skal gå galt” (The final rehearsal must go wrong). Sucked for me too I’d have to break the bad news.Īt 18.00 we started setting up (that’s 6 PM for the English speakers and 2 and a half hours after sundown, two weeks before winter solstice for the Vikings). The two girls already on duty would just have to run fast. In the end I forsook my fruitless endeavor. I was having about as much luck as a junkie chasing the dragon. In preparation for all the extra pressure there would be on the cloakroom at the evenings party, I was sitting at the old wooden table in the backroom of the bar, desperately calling everyone and anyone I knew. Really the amount of layers of clothes one can wear to keep out the cold of a Scandinavian winter is quite extraordinary! The streets were crammed with busy people doing their Christmas shopping and trying their best to erase any hint of their body shape under woolen underwear, hats, scarves, earmuffs, boots, gloves, and overcoats.
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The snow had been falling heavy all week and showed no sign of slowing down. This is the Tale of how one of my nightmares came true and how that would cure me. Some of my nightmares were based on real events I had already lived through once, some have come true since. Okay, I’m back, trusty Tuborg by my side) (Jeez I’m gonna need a beer for this one. The part that always woke me up screaming, and it was the same in every dream, was me, standing in the center of this catastrophe, a thousand nameless faces all screaming at me “NEO, WHAT DO WE DO?” And I would grab my walkie to start giving orders. Of my close friends and coworkers being hurt by terrible accidents.
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Of people dropping from heart failure in the middle of the dancefloor. Nightmares of what would happen if we had someone come in to the party and start shooting. I had nightmares that left me shaking and paranoid for hours. You know how your veteran buddies that have been deployed come home with empty eyes, and hands that sometimes seem to grip their no longer issued rifles before they remember where they are? Burning out, for me, was like that, only it was a walkie, not a rifle. In late 2011 I had been running the parties for about 8 months, at the same time I managed the bar and had been doing so for about a year. ”The Masked Invaders” or ”Fire Bad, Beer Good” Edit: Next Tale is up in this hizzay: ( )