The gig was over, hits had been played, T-shirts and CD’s had been sold, autographs had been signed, girls had been hit on, the equipment was loaded onto the bus, we had our money from the promoter, and we were ready to go back to the hotel. But the star was busy drinking Crown Royal and kibitzing with a few late-night party fans, and it didn’t look like we were leaving anytime soon. So… Plan B. Borrow a car. One of our fans said, sure, you can use my car to go back to the hotel, so off we went, the guitar player and me.
We were in a strange town and had only a vague idea of where the Holiday Inn was. But we did have some directions, so it was just a matter of reading the street sings and turning the appropriate direction, like, either right of left. And, oh yeah, we were drunk. Like, seeing double drunk, and we couldn’t read the friggin’ street signs. He was driving, and I was the navigator, and we meandered around town for a while hoping just by chance to come across that big green sign.
And then I reached down on the seat amidst a pile of McDonald’s wrappers, cigarettes, sunglasses and cassette tapes and came up with – a pair of binoculars. BINOCULARS! Holy shit! Just what we needed. So I clamped them to my eyes and started navigatin’ like a sumbitch, reading street signs like I did when I passed the eye exam to get my drivers license when I was 16, and soon we were back “home”’, and at the bar.
Sometimes ya gotta wonder if there’s someone or something out there watching out for poor disoriented road musicians.