starbuck26
New member
I saw an interesting thread on Talkbass called "Interesting Gig Stories" or something like that, and the results were hilarious. I thought we should start one here.
I'll start it off with a secret that hasn't left my band until now:
We were playing in a basement of some frathouse in Allston; Drew is probably the only one who knows EXACTLY what that means. In Boston, Allston is probably the dirtiest neighborhood around, and most of the houses are full of Boston University shitheads living on top of one another with old fruitloops clogging the kitchen sink. I don't remember how we wound up there; I think our drummer at the time used to live there.
We had been drinking all afternoon, it being Saturday in the summer, and we were pretty well sloshed by the time we were told to set up and play. I set all my gear up and stood there sipping my beer while the rest of the guys got their shit together. People were generally ignoring us.
Suddenly, disaster struck. I farted. I'm ashamed to say it, but it was one of those "I didn't shit my pants, but I better go to the bathroom and wipe" kind of farts all men get once every couple of years (slightly more often over the holidays). So I put my guitar down and went to the bathroom in the basement.
Now... as I said, this was the dirtiest, foulest house in the dirtiest, foulest neighborhood in the city. I go looking around for some toilet paper... nothing. Paper towels under the sink? Nothing. Not a single shred of anything that could be used as toilet paper.
I remembered my boy scout motto: Be prepared. This is no problem, I thought. I whipped off my pants, wiped with my boxers, and then looked for the garbage can. Nothing. Now I'm panicking, because there's a line forming outside the bathroom and I can't just walk out with my undies in my hand. There was nowhere else to hide them. So I lifted the toilet tank cover and dropped them in, figuring the Fratboys won't even notice.
Now all I need to do is wash my hands and I'm scot free. Of course, there's no soap. So I act as gracefully as possible when leaving the bathroom and I walk out and the whole band is starting at me... they're like... dude... WTF... are we going to play? or what?
I went up and whispered in my singer's ear: "Dude... I'll tell you the whole story later. I just gotta go wash my hands."
They knew right then what happened and were reduced to hysterics. I went upstairs and got some dish detergent and washed up, then returned downstairs and played the show. It was good, I think, because when playing weird basement shows sometimes we get a bit shy. After that no one could touch us (and certainly wouldn't want to).
Funny thing is, we played there again a month later. I went into the bathroom to take a piss. I noticed my boxers crumpled in a damp, moldy ball next to the toilet. Someone had obviously found them in the tank.
God help us all.
I'll start it off with a secret that hasn't left my band until now:
We were playing in a basement of some frathouse in Allston; Drew is probably the only one who knows EXACTLY what that means. In Boston, Allston is probably the dirtiest neighborhood around, and most of the houses are full of Boston University shitheads living on top of one another with old fruitloops clogging the kitchen sink. I don't remember how we wound up there; I think our drummer at the time used to live there.
We had been drinking all afternoon, it being Saturday in the summer, and we were pretty well sloshed by the time we were told to set up and play. I set all my gear up and stood there sipping my beer while the rest of the guys got their shit together. People were generally ignoring us.
Suddenly, disaster struck. I farted. I'm ashamed to say it, but it was one of those "I didn't shit my pants, but I better go to the bathroom and wipe" kind of farts all men get once every couple of years (slightly more often over the holidays). So I put my guitar down and went to the bathroom in the basement.
Now... as I said, this was the dirtiest, foulest house in the dirtiest, foulest neighborhood in the city. I go looking around for some toilet paper... nothing. Paper towels under the sink? Nothing. Not a single shred of anything that could be used as toilet paper.
I remembered my boy scout motto: Be prepared. This is no problem, I thought. I whipped off my pants, wiped with my boxers, and then looked for the garbage can. Nothing. Now I'm panicking, because there's a line forming outside the bathroom and I can't just walk out with my undies in my hand. There was nowhere else to hide them. So I lifted the toilet tank cover and dropped them in, figuring the Fratboys won't even notice.
Now all I need to do is wash my hands and I'm scot free. Of course, there's no soap. So I act as gracefully as possible when leaving the bathroom and I walk out and the whole band is starting at me... they're like... dude... WTF... are we going to play? or what?
I went up and whispered in my singer's ear: "Dude... I'll tell you the whole story later. I just gotta go wash my hands."
They knew right then what happened and were reduced to hysterics. I went upstairs and got some dish detergent and washed up, then returned downstairs and played the show. It was good, I think, because when playing weird basement shows sometimes we get a bit shy. After that no one could touch us (and certainly wouldn't want to).
Funny thing is, we played there again a month later. I went into the bathroom to take a piss. I noticed my boxers crumpled in a damp, moldy ball next to the toilet. Someone had obviously found them in the tank.
God help us all.