So, part of my gig at Carnival Cruise Line, back in the day, involved being the maestro of mood, the architect of atmosphere, the guy who made sure nobody had to suffer the awkward silence of a comedian’s grand entrance or ignominious exit.

You know, the subtle sorcery of the sound booth.

This one night, some jokester strolled up, all “IDC, bro, play whatever” when I asked about his walk-on music.

My brain, being the magnificent beast it is, instantly conjured the brassy, ebullient, utterly undeniable opening of Earth, Wind & Fire’s “September”.

I mean, come on, it’s a track so universally beloved, so undeniably good, it practically guarantees a good vibe.

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(I even queued it up at the blaring horn section for maximum energy.)

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You just can’t mess that up.

Or so I thought.

This comedic genius took one listen to the auditory enchantment I’ve provided and… scoffed.

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Into the mic. In front of the entire audience.

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“Earth, Wind, and Fire?” He practically spat into the mic, incredulous. “Typical. They played the black song for the black comedian. Should’ve asked me first. I would’ve told ‘em I want to hear some Coldplay.”

The crowd, those beautiful, easily swayed creatures, roared with laughter.

At my expense.

My jaw hit the floor, and the internal inferno began to churn.

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He said the song choice didn’t matter!

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And for the love of all things vast and boundless, Earth, Wind & Fire transcends race! Their music is a universal joy.

Plus, shocker of all shockers, I’m also black, so it’s not exactly a “race thing” unless he’d forgotten me already.

What was this other black guy talking about?!

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My immediate, primal urge?

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Retaliation 😈

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Oh, the dark symphony of vengeance I concocted in my mind!

See, this guy still needed me to play music for the end of his set as he exited the stage.

So, I scrolled through my digital arsenal of auditory abominations, seeking the most egregious, the most atmosphere-shattering, the most offensive sound imaginable.

My inner rebel screamed, “No music! Let him walk off in the most exquisitely uncomfortable silence known to humankind!”

That would certainly get the point across. A silent, awkward mic drop of my own design.

But then, just as I was about to descend into the petty, villainous abyss, a beam of pure brilliance struck me.

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A stroke of absolute, captivating genius that would make me the hero ... not the jerk.

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Because, let’s be honest, sinking to their level only makes you look like an ass. And who wants to get fired for being a sore loser?

Besides, the initial sting of his “joke”—if you can even call it that—had worn off.

I even found the dude genuinely funny, even as I was still kinda fuming. You can’t deny funny, even when your soul is on fire.

So, as he wrapped up his set and the applause swelled, a mischievous, thoroughly unhinged grin spread across my face.

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This was it.

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My moment.

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I leaned in...

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I pressed play...

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And through the venue’s massive sound system blared...

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the unmistakable, soul-stirring piano intro of...

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Coldplay’s “Clocks”

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Yes, that “Clocks.”

Their most well-known, most widely adored, most universally recognized track.

It took a beat.

The comedian, basking in his well-deserved applause, hadn’t quite registered it yet.

But then, his head snapped up.

His eyes, in the dim light of the venue, locked with mine.

I gave him a slow, knowing smile.

And then, this magnificent bastard leaped into the air, a joyous, uproarious explosion of laughter erupting from him.

The quick-witted host grabbed the mic and said, “Our sound tech with a sense of humor! That was not planned, folks!”

The crowd’s applause, already thunderous, became an absolute roaring tempest.

Heads swiveled. Every single person in that sprawling lounge turned to face me, perched in my little sound booth at the back.

And then, they started to rise.

Out of their seats.

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A standing ovation!

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For me!

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It felt like an eternity, a magnificent, vibrant, ten-minute symphony of cheers.

I let “Clocks” play out in its entirety, a soundtrack to the exodus of a truly charmed audience.

As they spilled out, they bombarded me with high-fives, back-pats, and genuine compliments on my song choice and, dare I say, my absolutely brilliant comedic timing.

Even Larry (Remember him?) gave me two thumbs up.

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I was the man. The hero of the night. Not the villain I almost became.

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But it wasn’t just my victory. It was ours.

Because we created a memory.

A moment of shared, unexpected joy that resonated with everyone.

And now, I’m sharing it with you.

Because that’s what the Vaudrium is all about: shared adventures, intimate rebellions, and remembering that even when life throws a sarcastic jab, you can always hit back with a little bit of unexpected, spectacularly unconventional magic.

Ready to dive deeper into a world where the lines between reality and the wonderfully weird blur? Where every story is an invitation to a new adventure, and every shared laugh builds a bridge to a community that gets it?

Then it’s time to join The Vaudrium. It’s your backstage pass to the most astounding, the most peculiar, the most authentically unhinged corner of the literary universe.

​​https://vaudeverse.com/the-vaudrium/​​

Michael Martin

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