Ah, Fall River. Another free concert. Another day of me being utterly indispensable, yet utterly ignored. You heard about it, didn't you? WJAR covered it. A grand gathering, all thanks to me. I was there, lurking in plain sight, facilitating every smile, every swaying hip, every bad singalong. I am Free Admission, and for too long, I’ve been the silent, unsung hero of your budget-friendly excursions, and frankly, I'm exhausted.
Do you have any idea what it's like to be me? To be desired by all, yet valued by so few? People flock to me, chasing the thrill of getting something for nothing. They see my name, "FREE," plastered across banners and event listings, and their eyes light up with a mercenary glee. "Excellent!" they exclaim, "Now I can bring the kids, my second cousin, and that guy from work I barely tolerate, all without dipping into the vacation fund!"
And then they arrive. Oh, the indignity! They show up late, leave early, talk over the music because, "Hey, it's free, right? No big loss if we miss the bridge." They complain about the parking, the queue for the port-a-potty, the acoustics – as if my inherent freeness somehow guarantees platinum-level amenities. If they had shelled out a hundred bucks for a ticket, they'd be meticulously scrutinizing every drum solo and pretending to understand the lyrics. But since I'm involved? It's just background noise for their picnic blankets and lukewarm beer.
I am forever associated with "cheap." "If it's free, it can't be good," they mutter, even as they gorge themselves on the complimentary cheese samples. I enable joy, yes, I'm not entirely jaded. I see the families laughing, the teenagers attempting to mosh, the elderly couple slow dancing under the dying sun. And for a fleeting moment, I feel a spark of purpose. But then, inevitably, someone complains that the band didn't play their favorite B-side, or the bubbles machine ran out of fluid, and my 2 returns with a vengeance.
My biggest fear? Being mistaken for "worthless." I have inherent value! I open doors, I create opportunities, I foster community! But people equate my non-existent price tag with a lack of quality. They’ll drive an hour for a free t-shirt, but won't walk five minutes to simply experience something beautiful, because there's no tangible cost. I'm the benevolent ghost in the machine, allowing access without demanding a transactional tribute, yet I’m punished for my generosity. All I ask is for a little respect. Just once, I wish someone would look at a "Free Admission" sign and think, "How wonderful! I must cherish this experience, for it is a gift." Not, "What's the catch?" Or, "I wonder if they're giving out free hot dogs, too?" My existence is a testament to the fact that not everything needs a price tag to hold worth. Please, the next time you encounter me, remember: I may be free, but I deserve your attention, your presence, and a modicum of genuine appreciation. Otherwise, I might just start charging. And trust me, you won't like my rates.
