April 4 — Chico to Escondido

721 adults and 2,439 kids later and we're on the long road back down the I-5 spine of California to Escondido. I didn't have time to write about the Karaoke drama at our hotel night before last. I was trying to figure out how to get Fumiyo from the bus to the Holiday Inn, and ended up waiting for their contracted cab to bring her. A hubbub arose around the front desk: a woman was close to crying, gazing at the seemingly unimpressed turbaned man who runs the Indian restaurant there, saying, "For you, I'm gonna do this..., but only for you!" An angry woman came out of the bar, stating loudly that the place was full of people waiting for the karaoke and if they didn't get the karaoke soon, they were all going to walk. The angry woman went to support the long-suffering DJ, who assured all present that she was going to take this setback in stride and bring her stuff in: karaoke for the people!

Apparently, the DJ had not been paid, and had been waiting for the manager to arrive to pay her before she began. The crowd was there for her—all fans and friends. Now they were filled with a sense of mission, threatening to leave if the DJ didn't get her $200. It was very dire.

In the midst of this, the manager walked in, like a king into his kingdom, besieged by a tiny protesting mob. They parted for the little man—for he was rather small in his suit—and hurled oblique insults at him. He ignored them, and walked slowly through their midst and down the hall, not saying a word. I admired his dignity. It somewhat dampened the ire of the tiny mob, and, frankly, they didn't come out look any better for it.

In the end, there was no karaoke, and the crowd broke up, leaving in twos and threes, discussing bar options for the waning night. I had been impressed with their sense of mission and indignation. However, as usual, it dissipated into complaisance. Fumiyo arrived by Liberty Cab, finally, and we also got on with our business.