gig stories

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.
 
Well my old band substance had a singer that was maybe a little off at times to say the least.when we first started playing out we were in the middle of our show and our singer decided to whip his dick out.It was kind of funny & we all laughed about it afterwards but of course all this did was light a spark under his ass to see what he could get way with next.

Well he started joking around with this band we were doing a show with called 'Not like you' and he made up a flyer with their name spelled 'Not like ewe' saying he was gonna f*ck a sheep on stage.well he went to the porn store before the show,got an inflateable love sheep and proceeded to fill it's crotch with jelly.well everyone starting urging him on which didn't take much with since we were all known to consume a good bit of alcohol.

He made well on his promise and started poking the thing.It was only for a few seconds but then he started flinging it around with the jelly flying everywhere as everyone cringed & ran from the stage area.Then threw it to the crowd who kicked it about a few times.It was the most bizarre show i ever played but it was funnier than hell.The sound man was disgusted cause his mic cords and such were all sticky from the jelly but he was kind of in shock and laughed it off.

The bar owner said don't let it happen again but we kind of became a crowd favorite after that so the owner was to happy to give us more shows.We were drawing people wondering what would happen next.We had him tone it down after that night.Our rythm guitarist quit after that show too saying it was too much for him.

We were told someone was seen taking the sheep to the bathroom,washed it off & left the bar with it.I don't want to know what happened to it.Our singer said he went home and passed out on the couch and when he woke up he was stuck to his uderwear from the jelly and had to jump in the shower with his underwear on to get them off.
 
Well my old band substance had a singer that was maybe a little off at times to say the least.when we first started playing out we were in the middle of our show and our singer decided to whip his dick out.It was kind of funny & we all laughed about it afterwards but of course all this did was light a spark under his ass to see what he could get way with next.

Well he started joking around with this band we were doing a show with called 'Not like you' and he made up a flyer with their name spelled 'Not like ewe' saying he was gonna f*ck a sheep on stage.well he went to the porn store before the show,got an inflateable love sheep and proceeded to fill it's crotch with jelly.well everyone starting urging him on which didn't take much with since we were all known to consume a good bit of alcohol.

He made well on his promise and started poking the thing.It was only for a few seconds but then he started flinging it around with the jelly flying everywhere as everyone cringed & ran from the stage area.Then threw it to the crowd who kicked it about a few times.It was the most bizarre show i ever played but it was funnier than hell.The sound man was disgusted cause his mic cords and such were all sticky from the jelly but he was kind of in shock and laughed it off.

The bar owner said don't let it happen again but we kind of became a crowd favorite after that so the owner was to happy to give us more shows.We were drawing people wondering what would happen next.We had him tone it down after that night.Our rythm guitarist quit after that show too saying it was too much for him.

We were told someone was seen taking the sheep to the bathroom,washed it off & left the bar with it.I don't want to know what happened to it.Our singer said he went home and passed out on the couch and when he woke up he was stuck to his uderwear from the jelly and had to jump in the shower with his underwear on to get them off.

there have to be pictures of this. where are they?
 
One of my bands played a few gigs in this club that was on the second floor of an apartment complex, above the office - weird setup but it worked well. The club had a patio that overlooked the complex grounds.

Our drummer was an inveterate pussy hound. We were always having to chase him down between sets because he'd be off somewhere chatting up some sweet young thang. Funny thing is, he was damned good at it. He was skinny and ugly as hell, but he always managed to make it home with some prime stuff.

Anyhow, after one job we had loaded out everything, going up and down those unforgiving metal-and-concrete steps- everything but the drum kit, that is, because the drummer had once again disappeared. Probably out in the parking lot getting a blow job. This was well after closing time and the club was telling us to get our stuff out so they could lock up and go home.

(And you know how drummers never help load anything but their own shit, because they have so much of it that they don't have time to help. :rolleyes: ;) :p)

So we carted his stuff down the stairs - his was The Drum Kit From Hell, by the way, with double bass and more fucking toms than you can imagine - and disassembled as little as possible in the process. By the time we got to the cymbals we were tired of going up and down those stairs so we carefully dropped them off the patio, edgewise so that they'd embed themselves in the grass below. He had lots of cymbals so we all got to practice. And we were really enjoying ourselves, laughing our asses off each time one went over.

In the end there was a pile of drums in disarray in the grass with a bunch of cymbals sticking straight up out of the ground, the club is locked up and dark, and still no drummer. The rest of us had just decided to leave it there when - guess who shows up? The look on his face was priceless, and he was pissed, but said not a single word as he began hauling his kit to his van as the rest of us took off.

We didn't have to break down his drum kit again after that. :D

OK maybe it's not fucking plastic sheep or sharting, but they were good times.:)
 
Wow, this thread rules. :lol: I'll think back on some of my shows I've played and see if I can think of something worth sharing.

For now, I'll merely confirm what starbuck says about Allston - I simply avoid the place, though to be fair it's not because I'm being a snob or anything, and more because it's a titanic pain in the ass to get there on the T from Somerville and it's impossible to park if you drive, lol.
 
OK, here's the Really Drunken Gig story.

Different band. We had a one-week gig at a club in San Angelo, Texas. The first night of each one-week tour was Sunday and the club was almost empty.

But Charlie was there. Charlie Hughes, Charles Hughes, claimed great-nephew of the late, great Howard Hughes. (And he may well have been - from what we gathered over the next few days Mr Hughes lived quite comfortably in a big 'ol victorian house with no obvious means of income, and always had plenty of money.)

Whoever he really was, Charlie had one thing he liked to do. He would go to this same club every Sunday night on the first night for each new band, and buy the band tequila shots. Several rounds of tequila shots. Many, many rounds of tequila shots. In the end, towards the end of the evening we actually turned some down and gave them to the other bar patrons.

Because we were blind, piss drunk. During the last set - what little of it I can remember - the bass player puked behind his rig mid-song, and I can recall staring intently at my left hand and commanding it to do...something, anything, and my left hand in turn steadfastly refusing to do a fucking thing except play barre chords. Badly.

Everyone else in the band was as bad, except for the drummer (different than the one I spoke of above), who was a light drinker. Poor guy, having to carry the rest of us along like that. I'm just glad that we didn't have to load out.

In the end it was OK because as it turns out it was sort of a tradition that the new band was going to get shitfaced on their first night. But, damn, that was the last time I ever let myself get like that. :eek:

Mass quantities of tequila and guitar playing do not mix! :eek: :D
 
I love these threads ,hahaha the sheep fucking one, that's great! :D I saw something similar once too, except it was a blow up pig, not a sheep.. That was a high school party at a friend of a friend's, good times!

Now a story about a band that at The Globe in Milwaukee, musta been around 1998 or so... They played right after us. So the drummer comes out and plays an entire hour long set butt-ass naked behind his drums. After they're done, the drummer gets up, walks to the front of the stage with his schlong hangin out, turns around, bends over, and sticks a drumstick several inches up his ass. Wiggles it around for a few seconds, pulls it out, and throws in into the crowd! I thought ppl would part like the red sea, but noooo, they ALL rush for it. My gf at the time (now wife), my best friend and his gf (now HIS wife) were sitting at a table in the back of the crowd, jaws hanging!

Now for some of my own band stories, which aren't nearly as exciting:

1. Battle of the bands, appx 1995. We're playing for studio time in front of radio ppl, AE's, ppl in the industry, we're bringing our A-game. 10 bands in a few hours, so it's FAST change overs, like 3-5 minutes. Backline provided, all we have to do is take our instruments and play. I plug in, while I'm hooking up my POD, the singer grabs my other guitar and is helping us get ready quickly. We play 2 songs fuckin awesome, we're psyched! Quick guitar switch, play one last song. The song starts with me playing a little acousticy stringy intro, so the spotlight is on me, I start playing, hit the 1st few notes, and something is terribly wrong.... The A string is lower than the E string, it's so out of tune, there's NO way to recover... We totally flop, they play the rest of the song without me, they sucked, we lose, game over.. As we're packing up, the singer tells me he dropped my guitar, hard enuf that the bridge knocked loose, and the bridge pickup snapped out of its socket.. He didnt think to mention that 5 minutes ago???! :mad:
 
2: Standard bar gig in Milwaukee.... Different band, must be 1992 or so. We're doing fine, not too drunk, having fun, we finish set #1. Me and the drummer go up to the bar, get a beer. 5 minutes later, this drop dead gorgeous chick slinks over and says "You guys are ..... ", its kinda loud in the bar, we thought she was complimenting us. Drummer says "hey thanks baby, glad you like it, blahblahblah..." trying to be smooth.. The mood INSTANTLY changes, shes says "NO! GET OUT!" loud and clear. We've never seen this chick before, so we're just like 'umm ok, ya whatever...' and just kinda turn away and ignore it. She flops a handfull of $20's on the bar and repeats, "NO, you are DONE! Pack your shit and get out of here NOW, before I call the fucking cops!" She has $$, so we're paying attention now, thinking 'wtf??'

Turns out she's the daughter of the bar owner, and the rest of the band went out to the van to toke up, but what she's pissed about is: She saw them chugging a bottle of Goldschlager out there, instead of buying shots from the bar. The $$ she's offering is half what we're sposed to get paid. During all the commotion, the rest of the band comes back in, and they start a huge loud argument, bassist kicked a chair over and is getting unruly.. So she DID call the cops, who were kind enough to let us load out....

It was only about 11pm, so we decided to go to another place where we're basically the house band and play there for free. Singer yells "EVERYONE GO TO STOOGES!!" into the bar door, and everyone there is our friends, so they all come, and the bar emptied out, I'll bet not 5 ppl stayed :D They go from 60 or so ppl, to basically none. All cuz 2 guys didn't buy a few shots at the bar, and she wanted to be a bitch about it, they lost hundreds in business.

<nelson>HAW HAW</nelson>
 
3. Same band as story #1, around the same time, late 90's.. We got a great gig at BBC's, in the very busy east side. There's no parking, so I double park to unload my car. I get the shit up there, I start setting up, no prob.. About 20 mins later someone says "dude, theyre towing your car...." :eek: FAAAAAK!! I totally forgot about that, so I run out there just in time to see my car pulling away behind the tow truck. But at least I got all the guitar stuff out, so we played the show like nothing happened, had a good show actually.. The guys found enuf room in their cars for my gear, got me to the tow lot and fronted me a few bucks to get my car back at 3am...
 
I probably told this one on the board already, but I can't think of any good search terms to find it, so, on the chance I didn't, here goes:

Probably 1988 or so, my band is sitting around in the house where the drummer and bass player live (we practice in the basement), and we get a call that a touring national act's opening band canceled, and the venue needs us to fill in - awesome! (sort of, except that they didn't pay very much) - we had done it before, so I guess they remembered. The catch? We had to be on stage in about 3.5 hours -- not bad, except that we didn't have a truck, and we had all our big equipment to move.

So we start calling around. Our singer - about 10 years older than the rest of us, and something of a man of mystery, departs -- I guess in search of a truck. Some time passes, and a buddy shows up with a good sized pickup, and we're all loading and outside at about T-2 hours to showtime, when I look up and see a beat up old pickup with no license plates barrelling down the street toward us - it comes to an abrupt stop in the front yard, and the singer jumps out, speechless, with a game-animal glassy stare. He runs in the house -- as he's half in the door, one of two police cruisers pulls up even more aggressively than he did (followed by the other) and the men in blue burst out and run in, grab him, throw him in the back of the car, and take off.

Turns out he had some warrants... Anyway, we're in bad shape - it's not like we had a backup singer. The rhythm guitar player's dad was pretty well off, and had some connections, and so set about bailing him out. We proceeded to set up at the venue, just sort of hoping things would work out. Showtime comes, goes, then about 15 minutes after we were supposed to start, he shows up, disheveled (more than usual) and way off the beam. I think this was the gig where a local rag described our performance as "simply pathetic" the next day -- they were probably being kind :D
 
Ok, here's one, since we're on the subject of "unfortunate" stories, and not just funny ones...

In college, I played in this... Hmm. The singer/acoustic guitarist was into Dave Matthews, as was basically every acoustic guitarist at college. The other electric player was hugely into Phish, as was basically every pothead in college. I was a seven string guitarist big into Joe Satriani and his ilk (still am), and we had a bassist who was a huge Flea fan, and a drummer who pretty much could have sat in for the dude from DMB and no one'd have known the difference. The dude was a monster. Anyway, so we're a very eclectic group with a lot of technical aptitude and some jam band tendencies.

We had a gig at a frat house toga party. We had finished most of our setup, and I had a brand-new Marshall TSL-100 head sitting on top of a Recto 2x12 cab that I was gigging with for the first time warming up on stage. A buddy of mine in the frat walked over and handed me two pints of beer, so I thanked him and put them on top of my amp head. I then leaned my guitar up against the amp and went to help my bassist set something up.

My guitar was still plugged in. As my bassist went to move his case off the stage, it snagged my patch cord, which made my guitar shift a bit. As it did, it began to slide across the front of my amp, clipped the two pints, which fell over, and fell onto the floor.

A Marshal TSL head is top vented. 32 ounces of beer poured onto 4 red-hot EL34 tubes, shattering two of them instantly.

At this point, I had 15 minutes until showtime, and no amp. I pretty much ran across campus and ran back carrying my buddy's Line6 Spider combo since that was the first available amp I could find on such short notice. It was underpowered, so I could barely be heard during the show.

After the show, my vocalist told me he couldn't believe I took it as well as I did, and that he was amazed I didn't kill anyone. Really, at that point, what'd that have accomplished? We had a show to play; I could deal with the emotions later (and really it wasn't my bassist's fault, it was a freak accident), and my #1 priority was finding another amp to play through in the next couple minutes.

As it turned out, my share of the cut was almost to the dollar enough to have the amp de-beered and replace the tubes. I eventually traded the amp in for a non-top-mounted Mesa, and have never really looked back. Moral of the story - Don't buy Marshalls. ;)
 
I was on the road for a lot of years, so there are a lot of stories that would be hard to believe to anyone not in a band - I'll share one now and if the thread continues maybe another later.

After a gig, we're invited to a house party (each town we were in we would annouce from the stage that the band was looking for a party - and in almost every town we found one). Through the wonders of various liquids and chemicals we were in very, very bad shape by the time we arrived at our motel.

To keep costs down, we had rented only one room with two beds and the four of us slept two to a bed. Half the time most of us stayed awake due to chemical intake.....so the sleeping arrangment was not awkward - even when we did sleep we were dressed (often in our stanky stage clothing).

Anyway, I woke up when the motel door opened (with waaaay to much sunlight seeping into the room). As I focused my eyes, I see our bass player stagger into the room, wrapped in a white bed sheet................followed by two cops - who were carrying his cloths.

I was able to sit up, swing my legs off the bed, snatch a plastic bag of pot and a pipe off the nightstand and stuff them under the covers - before the cops saw them.

The police proceeded to explain that the cleaning lady found our bass player curled up, asleep in nothing but his underwear, in the motel utility room, wrapped in a pile of sheets.

They then proceeded to search us and the room (fortunately they did not look under the sheets). The bass player had his Army coat on a chair and they went through it very carefully - but missed a small pocket - in which he had about a oz. of pot and several "White Crosses".

Not finding anything more sinister than a drunk in a linen closet, they simply told us to pack up and hit the road.......they actually followed us to the "edge of town"

We never figured out how he ended up in the utility room - he thinks he got up to piss, walked out the wrong door and then simply found someplace to crash (the utility room was right next to our motel room) - I don't even want to know where he actually pissed!
 
We booked a gig for a High School graduation party, our drummer was a Senoir at that school. We're playing in the living room of this old Victorian house, middle of town. The kegs are in the kitchen. My girlfriend came, rare, but she thought it might be fun. County Mounties converged from 4 directions, teenboppers went ape-shit. I suddenly realize I just might be the oldest guy here (25), WTF was I thinking!
I grab Brenda's hand and we hide in an upstairs closet. 16 cops search the house. I'm rather chagrinned when we are found. Hell, they found a kid inside the dryer!

We are all detained downstairs. I figured I might as well put my guitar in it's case, I'm probably going to jail. Cop looks at me and says " Did you guys get paid?"

After thinking about it for 10-20 seconds, I said "Do I go to jail if we did?"

He laughs and says, "No, just wanted to make sure you guys got your money, this party's over. . . . . . . .you guys get outa here."
 
This was another house show. Summertime, a year or two ago. The show had finished, and we were all pretty drunk. We love playing house shows because after they finish you've got a bunch of drunks in a house basically going nuts, with no money to pay and no public decorum to follow.

At some point we're out on the front lawn, and there's people all over the place... in the street, on the porch, everywhere. I'm drunk enough to decide that the front lawn is the best place to relieve myself, and so I whip it out and start peeing.

Now, I've got my back to the driveway, and there's my bassist and my old drummer learing against a car. The driveway is really skinny, and there's a chain link fence next to it, with about a foot of space between.

They get a brilliant idea: Let's push him while he's peeing so he gets piss all over the front of his pants.

Suddenly I'm shoved, but I held it together. Not a drop on me. So I decide that turnabout's fair play, and so turn about and start galloping after them spraying piss everywhere.

They both go for the space between the parked cars and get jammed at the same time between the fence and the car. Just as I got within range, Paul, the bass player, throws an elbow into Tim's stomach and forces his way through. Tim, ever unlucky, gets nailed.

I felt bad about it the next day, and so wrote an apology. This was the email I got from Paul:

Oh man that is too funny. I cant stop laughing about it.

Dont worry about tim though. He may be annoyed but I dont think he'd be upset. We were drunk and getting nutsy. He understands that. Its not like you were trying to hurt him or anything. After all you went for both of us and he wasn't fast enough.


And my response from Tim:
Instead of apologizing you should've said: "You fuckin deserved it you half-Canadian asshole."

I love how my band sees things eye-to-eye.
 
I think some of these stories should start off with "Dear Penthouse. You're not going to believe this, but..." ;^)
 
77 or so, we played a bar in a snow storm in iowa.

we got free drinks, and began drinking during setup....then began playing to an empty house...so one by one we started walking off stage and getting free drinks between songs....and then at the end of the first set we all headed for the free bar again....the bar still empty of customers.

the bar owner/bartender said "geez fhkng hell...you guys need to just go home I'm already $80 in the hole and you haven't started your second set."
 
the bar owner/bartender said "geez fhkng hell...you guys need to just go home I'm already $80 in the hole and you haven't started your second set."

HA HA HA! I've been there before, man, only we played to about 10 people all night and we still got paid $500 only because we had a written agreement. He was pissed.

June or July 1989. Our band (comprised of two 16-year-olds and two 17-year-olds) played this one gig at a bar/club in either Alhambra or Pasadena. After our set, some guy came up to us and said that he had to have us play at his bar. We came to an agreement and got us another gig: $200 flat and all the booze we could drink. [Note: we didn't drink much before or during gigs because we always wanted to give every show 100%]

We agreed to be the only band which means four 45-to-50-minute sets from 9-1. We decided to lay back on the originals and do about 90% covers. No problem.

Our home base was in the High Desert and this bar was out in the desert between Barstow and Victorville. It was called the Gaslight. It was a dump. The stage had chicken wire in front of it. Remember the stage from Bob's Country Bunker in "The Blues Brothers"? This was that stage to a T. Also, the only vehicles parked out front were Harleys. Scary!

The gig gets started. It's ALL BIKERS! The real deal. Leather vests with rockers. We were pretty spooked, but we didn't let it show. We rocked a great show that was heavy on the Van Halen, Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, Motörhead, Deep Purple (completely faked our way through that), Guns 'N' Roses, ZZ Top, and Bad Co. We also busted out that old biker classic "Born To Be Wild". It's a stereotype that bikers love "Born To Be Wild", and it's too friggin' true: it was the biggest song of the night and was played twice. There were probably only ten fights that night. I remember several times thinking I was gonna get hit with a pipe, whacked with a chain, or stabbed.

At the end of the night, we'd played our asses off and were covered in beer and sweat with pieces of glass in our hair. It turned out to be a great stab-free gig. Bikers know how to party, but it's scarier than shit to entertain them.

3 AM. There's still about 30 people there. We're all packed up. The owner comes over to us and hands us an envelope and a brown paper bag..."A little somethin' extra for you guys." We had a good idea of what was in the bag. We took it and left quickly.

About 100 yards down the road I open the bag. 'Shrooms. It's filled with 'shrooms. We all freaked out and tossed them out the window about a mile down the road.
 
Fisher-Price's "My First Gig"©

My very first gig, sophomore year, and we're playing at my high school on a Friday night. I had three basses on stage with me so I could change out a few times...you know, to look like a rock star.

This guy, Sly, was kind of an unofficial roadie. He helped with gear and tuning. He was a rock. Totally reliable. Never EVER thought to double-check his work after he proved himself. [note: this band existed before I was in it, so that's how Sly proved himself]

We play "With Or Without You" and the crowd loved it. Great harmonies, great atmospherics...it was excellent! I decided to change basses. I grabbed my second bass, plugged in, and waited for the four-count for the next song.

I hit the first note and THE FRIGGIN' THING IS TUNED SHARP! I freaked out. If I was a seasoned pro, this would have been a minor annoyance, but this was my first gig ever. I panicked. I was so in shock that I just couldn't do the fretboard math to "transpose my fingers"; I was on the other side of the stage and there was no bass in that monitor. I didn't think to run back to my side of the stage. I was like a deer in the headlights, only one wearing a bass that's not tuned right.

The guitar player wanted to stop, but the keyboard player and drummer just kept on going. I was SOOOOOOOOOO embarrassed! Needless to say, the song was then bass-less until after the first chorus because I had to switch basses.

The song went over well after that, but I still couldn't shake that for the rest of the gig. After the song, Sly told me the bass was a whole step sharp. He was so apologetic.
 
I was on the road for a lot of years, so there are a lot of stories that would be hard to believe to anyone not in a band - I'll share one now and if the thread continues maybe another later.

After a gig, we're invited to a house party (each town we were in we would annouce from the stage that the band was looking for a party - and in almost every town we found one). Through the wonders of various liquids and chemicals we were in very, very bad shape by the time we arrived at our motel.

To keep costs down, we had rented only one room with two beds and the four of us slept two to a bed. Half the time most of us stayed awake due to chemical intake.....so the sleeping arrangment was not awkward - even when we did sleep we were dressed (often in our stanky stage clothing).

Anyway, I woke up when the motel door opened (with waaaay to much sunlight seeping into the room). As I focused my eyes, I see our bass player stagger into the room, wrapped in a white bed sheet................followed by two cops - who were carrying his cloths.

I was able to sit up, swing my legs off the bed, snatch a plastic bag of pot and a pipe off the nightstand and stuff them under the covers - before the cops saw them.

The police proceeded to explain that the cleaning lady found our bass player curled up, asleep in nothing but his underwear, in the motel utility room, wrapped in a pile of sheets.

They then proceeded to search us and the room (fortunately they did not look under the sheets). The bass player had his Army coat on a chair and they went through it very carefully - but missed a small pocket - in which he had about a oz. of pot and several "White Crosses".

Not finding anything more sinister than a drunk in a linen closet, they simply told us to pack up and hit the road.......they actually followed us to the "edge of town"

We never figured out how he ended up in the utility room - he thinks he got up to piss, walked out the wrong door and then simply found someplace to crash (the utility room was right next to our motel room) - I don't even want to know where he actually pissed!

Those were some shitty cops if they missed under the sheets and a pocket big enough to hold an ounce.
 
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