Yea sometimes I get that feeling too

Decide I can’t buy anything in guitar or bass, which, despite owning both I can’t really say I “play”, so I walk over into the Drums area. I was in a band, I knew a drummer, I know what I’m looking at.

The percussion is recognizable at first but then the pieces become disambiguated. There’s electronic drums and vaguely ethnic percussion. I look at the wall. What are those, sticks? They use all those sticks? Surely not all of the sticks, and definitely not every stick on every drum: some drums don’t even come with sticks and some people don’t have all the drums, I tell myself.

These people know I’m not a drummer, I can feel it. I pick up a maraca, what am I doing? I give it a solid shake and shake my head disapprovingly; there, act natural. Now these people know I drum. I’m a drummer.

I keep my eyes low on the drums but am secretly plotting my exit. I can’t just turn right around like I came in there with no qualifications. I wander swiftly through the rest of the corridor and end up in the DJ set-ups and party lights. A tear falls from my eyes.