“Dude?”
“What?”
“Boooooooooooring!!”
“An’ ya wan’ me ta do ‘zactly what ’bout it?”
“I dunno! Somethin’!”
“Thought ya wanted ta be in show biz, dude!”
“Sittin’ here backstage doin’ nothin’ ain’t cuttin’ it, dude! Ya can’t play games, ya can’t run no tech, hell ya can’t run, ya can’t even talk wit’out some chick shushin’ ya ‘r somethin.'”
“Yeah. Tell that ta tha featured soloist in tha next dressin’ room, dude! He’s sittin’ here jus’ like we are!”
“Yeah? So what’s OC’s excuse? Tha only place he’s a soloist is in tha bathroom!”
“Classical gas?”
“Yeah! But in this band he’s, like, a bit player!”
“‘Zactly. Tha soloist an’ tha bit player who ain’t playin’ but in a couple a tha things on tha program, they both gotta sit an’ wait, anv not bug nobody while they’re waitin’.”
“That’s sick, dude.”
“That’s art, dude. Ya do what ya can an’ then wait while others do what they can. OC’s told everbody what’ll listen that, as a trumpet player, he makes a great marine biologist. He gets a chance ta play, wunnerful. An’ when he ain’t playin’, he’s waitin’ an’ not makin’ no fuss that might make it harder for them what are playin’. An’ ya want stress? Try memorizin’ a pile a music an’ then doin’ it absolutely perfect ‘front a a buncha peeps who’re just waitin’ fer ya ta slip up an’ then dump on ya. You what can’t memorize tha passcode fer yer phone!”
“Can so!”
“Yeah right. Show me.”
“Hah. Like this! No, wait, this … Third time’s tha … Du-UUUUUDE!! I’m locked out! Now what’m I saposed ta do?!?”
“Sit an’ wait?”
“BOOOOOOOOOOORING!!“
Poor Amoeba. He not only had to sit and wait quietly, he also had to listen to you two yammer.