Wacked Weekend

What a crazy weekend.

The gig on Friday night was going along quite well. We were comfortable and our first two sets were lovely. Half way through our second break, however, a group of about five "kids" (no older than 24, I guess) came in.. three girls and two boys (okay, young women and men, but you'll see why I can't help but think of them as young and, ah, immature.)

We had a couple of minutes still to go, and there was no music playing. The owners of the place decided a couple of years ago to add one of those giant juke boxes, and naturally, they had it installed in the worst place possible for us musicians.. right on the wall behind the "bandstand" (which is really just a corner of the restaurant with a railing in front.. ugh.) Well, these kids, already pretty damn drunk, decided they wanted to hear some Springsteen song.. so the girls stumbled up to the bandstand, where all of our gear was parked. They were laughing and stumbling, unaware of our gear sitting there as they scrolled through the songs on the damn jukebox. Finally, two of my band members approached the kids and warned them to be careful, which the drunkettes did not take kindly.

Just before we began to play, the bartender turned off the jukebox and the little group protested loudly. The bartender said he had to shut it off so the band could finish up the last set. Just before putting on my bass, I approached one of the worst offenders, a baby-faced boy, and said, "Excuse me, but do you have a problem?"

He looked shocked, and said, "Uh, no. I love you."

"Good," I smiled back, "love you, too."

We got back on stage, and the kids pouted and, yes, booed as we started up our first song of the third set. As we ground our teeth and slagged through our final songs, baby-faced boy, who by this time was sitting at the corner of the bar closest to the stage, actually lifted his hand high in the air and gave a giant thumbs down sign. Real classy dude.

This enraged our normally very sweet and kind singer, Jess, and for our final song, she turned and faced the little group of brats and sang a song called "Big Boss Man," but spontaneously altered some of the lyrics to insult them. I don't remember the exact details now, but it included words like "puberty" and "immaturity," things like that, and it cracked me up. This was pretty out of character for her, but it summed up how insulted we all felt at the moment.

Twelve-thirty came, and we happily quit. As soon as I took off my bass, there were the brats again, with their dollar bills and the jukebox. Right in my way. We asked them kindly, could they please wait a minute or two so we could clear our (very expensive) equipment. They ignored us. Somehow, we managed to get them to move, their sacred pop music was blasting, and we began our long process of breaking down equipment.

Then it was time to load out. We have to walk right through the front of the bar and out the side door. Guess which little group of very drunken boogers were standing in a cluster right in our way? Yup. The first couple of times I was nice, politely smiling and saying "excuse me," as I usually do at that point of the night when drunk people don't get that we are trying to move giant amps through a small path.

By the third time of them ignoring us, I got angry. I was rolling my bass cabinet through and they would not move, so I intentionally bumped into the baby-faced boy and said loudly, "Jesus christ, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! Can't you see we are moving shit here?!! Honestly!" They looked at me in shock, like it was the first time they had been made aware of any of this. Unbelievable.

By the time I came back for my next trip, baby-faced boy stopped me and looked me straight in the eye, lifted his hand, and flipped me a big old, baby-fingered, never worked a day in his life, BIRD. Wow. That was a first. I started to ignore him and walk away, but my pride got the best of me, so I went back up to his precious little face and said, "Really? Do you feel better now?"

"Yes," he whined. Once again, I tried to explain to him that we were working here, and all we ask is that they move out of the way, so we can get the hell out of there. I  added that I would never go their job and get in their way... and then I walked out again, and realized to myself, silly me. That kid's probably never had a job in his life. Ugh.

It was ugly. Poor Mama Jess felt bad and tried to "make up" and reason with them, but it was hopeless, and we all got out of their as quickly as possible. I've played there a hundred times, and things like that have happened once or twice before, but that was the worst situation yet. There is no big, burly door man there to help us out, and I wish the owners would consider that. These little tarts really make an ugly mess out of things. Hopefully, they got pulled over for DUI on their way out.

So, that left us feeling fairly sour. We all went back to my place and tried our best to let the incident go, but it was an ugly feeling, for sure.

The next day was sunny and warm and lovely, and later in the afternoon, Jess and I rehearsed for our duo gig, which ended up going very well. As you know, I was very nervous about it, but once there, I remained focused, and we did a nice job and were received very well by the generous and music-loving audience. So, that wiped the palette clean, so to speak.

Sunday, back to the jam. A little disagreement with the bar owner there started up some more tension and stress, but hopefully, we've resolved that matter, for now anyway. The fun never ends, I tell ya.

Then, driving home, a wild hare decided to leap out into the roadway. I didn't run it over, but, THUMP, it slammed right into the side of the jeep, and it flipped and flopped about in the middle of the road for a while. Then it just laid there. I felt HORRIBLE, to say the least, but there was nothing I could do about it. Hopefully, it just got knocked out and may have been able to come to and hop away back into the woods. Most likely, though, it got run over by some sadistic red-neck in a giant truck. Sigh.

Strange times.