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we have a date with the underground, chapter 32
by Michele Christopher
Stealing. Theft. Absconding. Ripping off.
Or just taking.
Whatever it's called. We did it.
Hey, I am not going to lie and say it doesn't happen. Sometimes things disappear. I have been fortunate enough to have been on bothsides of the equation. Truth is, a lot of people out there only want themselves to keep going and they will do anything to keep moving. So, sometimes it gets pretty shady. Well, not that shady, just a little, ummm, ugly.
Sure, I am a different person now, but there was a time in my life that if you had something or were in our way, we would take it and knock you down just so we would keep going to the next town. Fuck you and get out of my way. See, when you just start out, the thought of burning your own bridges is kinda a gray area. Well, not gray, you just don't think about it and do it. You need a new cab, you are never going to see these people again, so take theirs. Just get it as the last thing before we turn the key and let's hit the road. By the time they figure out what happened, we will be in another state.
Like I said, we didn't do the brightest things. But, as you keep doing these things, it dawns on you that, yeah dumbass, you will run into these people again. Maybe not today or maybe not even next year. Hell, it could even be in another band, but if you run into them, they will remember you. Takes awhile to get that into your head.
I know it seems like a real easy concept to get. Don't steal from clubs and don't steal from other bands, but it really is hard not to do when you need something and it just sitting right there.
*once again, I don't do this anymore.
So, when we were just starting, we did learn fast that clubs won't book you and other bands will hate you if you trash their shit or steal their gear.. Go figure. Well, by the time we got that basic rule in our heads, we had roadies who were less than model citizens. Well, they were sped outthieves who just wanted to party with us. We didn't steal anymore cause, well read the no-book-this-band-anymore thing up above.
It's the ugly part of being in a band.
But the roadies still did. And no matter who stole what, they were with you so it's kinda on you if they do something.
So one night we blew a bunch of shit out. Don't ask me how we did it, but we were done. Physically and mentally. End of a tour. Well, one more night. Technically. Let's just go home and skip the last date. Cause hell, by the end, you really just want to end the show anyways. Why bother with one more club? Let's go home and lick our wounds. Deal with all our broken shit next week when I can stand to listen to you guys bitch again.
A week. Just give me a week before anyone calls me and we can deal with this.
Honestly, I never noticed the van was a little more full when I woke up in front of the last date of the tour. All I knew is that we agreed to skip this date. We lost a bass cab and as far as I was concerned, it was over. So what the fuck? Why did we stop?
"Cause we promised."
I really hate that fucking word. It's the only one, even back then, that people used against me cause I promised to do something.
I didn't ask too many questions. I just wandered over to the bar and sat down. Someone had found something for us too use. Cool. Whatever. Let's just get this done.
When the show was over, someone was yelling. The drummer was freaking out. I guess what happened was one of the roadies had stolen a "widow maker" bass cab and adolly from the last club. Pushed it into the van when no one was looking. I knew I was sleeping on some sort of dolly last night. See, I am smart like that.
"We won't ever get to play in that town again!"
"Do you realize what those guys did?!?"
"Someone has to take this back!"
Oh double christ.
Well, the tour was over and I was packed down in speed so to shut this guy up, I volunteered to take the equipment back. What the fuck. I wasn't sleeping for a few days and the tour was over. Three hours back to the last club in another car. Then three hours back to where I was standing. Then four hours back to my house.
I loaded up the car and hit the road. Barely awake but no way sleeping.
By the time I got to the club that we had snagged all this stuff from, it was empty. Just the early morning drinkers in the bar. Some old lady covered in tattoos standing behind some smoke filled room. The place reeked. I mean, usually you will get to a club and smell the beer infused walls a block away but the smell wasusually gone in the morning. This place was different. It seems like the party never stopped.
"You want a beer or something stronger?"
Well the last thing on my mind was a beer. Alcohol and methamphetamine really don't work out to well so I set out to find someone in charge and give them my "look how honest we are"spiel and get back on the road. Maybe try to smooth things over and try to get another date with them. I mean hell, I was honest, right? That's the way it works, right?
Creaky doors open and I was backstage again. More drugs. These guys didn't let the party stop. And by party I mean three guys sitting around doing dope just talking about nothing. Which was good for me. I mean I really wasn't on the normal level either so I was doing just fine with them.
"Oh. Ok. Yeah. What do you want?"
"Well, it seems that one of our roadies accidentally..."
Blah. Blah. Blah.
He really didn't care about it. He really didn't remember it. He really didn't know us. So I dragged the widow maker back inside. Pushing it on the stage, I caught the name of the club it belonged to spray-painted on the back.
It was the name of the club we played last night.
We grabbed the wrong cab.
They looked the same.
Turtle thinks that some days you should just sleep in.