I’m waiting on my 3:20 pm flight in a US Air/Continental cafe at Austin airport, and so far I’m the only person who hasn’t walked up and dropped money into the plastic tip jar for the guitar guy. He’s crooning country standards, of course, and I’m marvelling at the ironclad rule that states that all lounge/cafe performers have to use the same country-twangy singing voice with that little vowel cry from time to time. I don’t know enough about country music to cite an influence, but every one of these guys sounds the same.
And that’s why I have tipped yet, I suppose. And probably won’t when I leave for the gate. Because I vaguely hate this shit. He seems like a nice enough hombre, but sorry…no.
