Every day at 4pm I wait outside the Bruegger’s corporate office for Matea to get off work. As I crossed over Church Street yesterday, I saw a young girl (well, maybe late teens) with an acoustic guitar and thick-rimmed glasses busking for change in front of the pink Bank Street wall of Monelle. The day before I had watched a local homeless man pace back and forth talking to himself, puffing incessantly on a cigar. So, to see this nice, Loeb-esque young woman on the corner next to an open 15-minute parking spot was, to me, a stroke of good luck.
So I pulled in and rolled down both passenger side windows in anticipation of her singing “Kiss Me,” which I just knew would be next on her playlist. But no sooner had I switched off the ignition than the music abruptly stopped. I looked back to see a uniformed officer standing very close to her and flipping through some sort of ticket or note book. She was clutching the guitar close to her body in an almost defensive stance. I mostly could not hear what was being said between them, but I saw Sergeant Joe Friday gesture towards Church Street (she was, technically, firmly positioned on Bank Street, not Church) and then say more loudly, “You put that
away and follow me to my squad car.” He said it just like that.
I saw the girl return her instrument to a soft case and...was suddenly scared to death by Barry, the hearing-impaired maintenance man from Matea’s office. He will occasionally come to my open window as I wait (he’s waiting to lock the doors at 5), and we will try to have a conversation in charades. Not knowing he was behind me, I jumped high in my seat and missed the rest of the interaction between Molly (or so said the sticker on her guitar) and Sergeant Friday. As Barry walked away, the two of them disappeared around the corner. But before they did, I called out a “boooo,” which was rather loud, but not loud enough, I knew, for any of them to hear. I supposed the cop took Molly back to his car, ran a background check, humiliated her, and then either gave her a fine or a warning for singing too close to Church Street, where one must first obtain an official Church Street Marketplace Street Entertainer License.
Performing for money on Church Street, with the blessing of the city, involves applying for a license, auditioning on a predetermined Tuesday at noon, being selected based upon several deciding factors, and then paying a permit fee between $5 and $25 dollars. If selected, there are also
4 pages of strict rules and regulations one must follow at all times. So much for spreading spontaneous joy to the window shoppers of Burlington. I know that some acts in the past have been a nuisance to both the public and the business owners of the Marketplace. But it seems like an easier system of natural selection could keep the bad acts weeded out. If you’re no good, the meager profits won’t be worth your while. If you’re great, folks will be chucking quarters at your case all day long. I absolutely love street performers. I can’t get enough of them, actually, and I love to attend the annual Festival of Fools that takes place in Burlington. I think the red tape and subjective, politicking bureaucracy of an audition process for ordinary Joes or college kids who need to earn an extra buck is a little much. Especially tersely reprimanding and marching an innocent chanteuse off to your squad car just doesn’t jibe with the atmosphere of this laid-back city. I say, Let ‘em Work, Let ‘em Live. Viva la Busker!
