Get The Led Out

I used to love listening to music on the radio. Mainly in high school. Right after I got my driver's license. Before I started thinking and listening independently. Nowadays, I still listen occasionally, when I'm on a drive and it's not worth the time to choose. I still embrace at least one corporate rock convention, and have adopted it as my own. Sometimes, I still gotta GET THE LED OUT!

Now is such a time--I'm typing as "Dazed and Confused" is about to start on Side 1 of one of my dustiest vinyls--and it reminds me of a story.

Back in the college days, when I was prowling the streets of Madison like an alley cat, a few of my buddies and I were holed up at the Plaza Tavern. This was probably a Wednesday night in the dead of summer, because there weren't but us, a dozen other patrons, and two bartenders present.

After a beer or two, I filled the jukebox and picked my four songs. My second selection was "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You." Just as the rolling thunder melted into Robert Plant's howl, one of the bartenders skipped the song. I didn't even know they could do that.

Me: Did you just skip the song.
Barkeep: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Barkeep: Now is not the time for that song.
Me: What? There's never a bad time for Led Zeppelin.
Barkeep: Well I don't want to hear it.

I was out of my booth at this point. It wouldn't have been the first time I was given the boot from the plaza, but I managed to sedate myself after ten seconds of glare down. Instead of a screaming match, I took my seat, enjoyed the next song, then put another dollar into the jukebox and played "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" four straight times. After skipping it twice, and jeers from the entire bar, the barkeep finally let it play and I won. If you count paying $1.50 to hear "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You" as victory. Which on that night, I did.