Strumming Outside Coles: An Unexpected Encounter with Murray
I was standing outside Coles, smoking a cigarette while waiting for my wife and her friends to finish work so we could head home.
As I waited, a man in his late fifties caught my eye. He was playing guitar right near the entrance. Caught between the idle wait and a curiosity to get a closer look, I stubbed out my cigarette in the wall-mounted bin and walked over.
He was playing a Beatles tune. As I sat down beside him, he greeted me without missing a beat, picking seamlessly to the rhythm of "Norwegian Wood."
At his feet rested a small pan filled with coins of all denominations. Beside it lay a backpack with a computer keyboard poking out, and a reusable shopping bag filled with bottles. As I leaned in closer, a rich mix of scents hit me—tobacco, booze, sweat, and time on the street.
“Do you play?” he asked, switching to a melody that sounded unfamiliar to my ears.
I smiled and replied, “I can strum a little with a few basic chords.”
He just nodded and kept picking at the strings. Shoppers leaving the store tossed coins into the pan—some even dropping handfuls at a time. It felt like they were giving him money less for the performance and more just to lighten their heavy pockets of spare change. Truth be aloud, his playing wasn't extraordinary.
An elderly woman emptied a handful of change into the pan and said, “That’s all the coins I have left!”
“Do you want me to put up a sign saying we accept notes, too?” I joked.
He didn't laugh. Instead, he simply said, “It’s good money.” He paused, then added, “One time I made sixty dollars in an hour. Usually, it's twenty plus.”
“That is good money!” I chimed in.
“This is the best job I’ve ever had, except I can’t play for very long,” he continued in a thick Australian accent, continuing to pluck the strings. “I play for an hour or two and then call it a day. I can't go on for hours like some of the others do.”
He unclipped the strap and held out his instrument. “You want to try?”
He handed the guitar over to me and pulled the pan closer to pocket his earnings. Why not? I thought. I’ve spent half my life trying to play the guitar, usually making every sound except actual music. I wasn't about to pass up the chance for another attempt.
I took the instrument and started strumming.
Shoppers began to pause and watch. A few smiled—not at the music, I’m sure, but at the scene I was creating playing guitar with zero know-how. Some looked almost surprised by my willingness to sit down with a street musician. But music is music, right? The flow of coins stopped completely, but Murray was busy counting his stash anyway; I don't think he expected any while I was on duty!
After my brief musical solo, the onlookers dispersed. Murray and I finally introduced ourselves properly.
“I’m Murray,” he said, extending a hand.
We shook hands, and he began offering me advice on playing and what to look for in an instrument. “You should look for a twelve-string guitar,” he suggested. “That way, you get the sound of two guitars in one.”
“I’ll probably just settle for a second-hand one,” I replied.
“Fair enough,” he nodded. “Just make sure you check the bridge, the strings, and the overall sound before buying.”
As I handed the guitar back, Murray reached into his bag for a bottle, knocked back two quick shots of alcohol, capped it, and packed it away. He was ready to pack up.
I was enjoying the conversation and wanted to chat a bit more, so we kept talking for a few minutes. To my surprise, he knew quite a bit about my home country, Bhutan—its shift to democracy, the introduction of television and the internet, and our focus on Gross National Happiness.
“You’re remarkably well-informed,” I said, genuinely impressed.
He lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I listen to the radio.”
Shortly after, my wife walked out through the sliding doors. I asked her to drop a two-dollar coin into Murray's pan and introduced the two of them.
“See you around,” we said to each other as he prepared to leave.
I walked to the car feeling inspired. I think I'm finally going to buy that second-hand guitar. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll play just like Murray—and even get paid for it. You never know what’s coming next.
