As a youngster, I was something of a classical guitar prodigy (this "accelerated ability" didn't last, unfortunately; it's more like a kid who walks at nine months, but ultimately doesn't walk any more skillfully than anyone else). At the tender age of 13, I had played a number of youth concerts and church services, when my teacher/mentor decided it was time that I hired myself out to play background music for private functions. Light classical, arrangements of pop tunes (Bert Bacharach, etc.), that sort of thing. Anyway, I showed up to the first of these, which was a party at the home of a wealthy gentleman whose daughter was getting married in a few days. He showed me around before the guests arrived -- where the party would be centered, where I would play, and most importantly, where the refreshments were.

Being thirteen and a "professional musician," I figured I was entitled to the perks. I wasn't very experienced with alcohol, but I didn't want to hit any one beverage too heavily, so I "sampled" -- a glass if gin here, a glass of wine there, some bourbon, etc. It wasn't long before my host (employer) noticed that I was having trouble holding my head up, much less playing anything worth hearing. He was amused and very gracious about it, gave me a lift home (the next town over), paid me even though I had only played for about half of the allotted time, and watched until he was sure I had made it in the front door. I didn't make it much further than that before I was violently ill, and the next day I thought I was going to die. It was a painful, but valuable, lesson in humility.