I called my contact at the show again, and of course, no answer. I drove to the club, it was closed. Now I am righteously pissed off. I called my booker, who is a solid dude, and after about 30 more minutes, another hotel was found. Then my anger really took off.
I walked into hotel B and the lady said, “We don’t have no rooms.” That’s fine, I have a reservation. “Give me the name and your credit card.” Name given…but you have a card on file. You’ll charge mine if I give it to you. “Sir, I need the card.” Don’t you have one on file? “Yes, but I need yours.” No you don’t. Not if you have one right there, in the computer. “Sir, without giving me a card, I have to give your room reservation away.” At this point, I really blew a gasket. I announced a very loud “Motherfucker!” and stormed out. After a series of messages back and forth, the club agreed to pay me for the room if I used my own funds. Back into the hotel…
I’ll use my card, I just need a receipt. “Sir, you’ll get your receipt no problem. It will print in the morning.” I need it now. I have to leave tomorrow and drive 11 hours and the club is closed. “Sir, they only print after midnight.” So, you’re telling me you have NO ABILITY WHATSOEVER TO PRINT A RECEIPT?! “Yes, sir. I could print you a blank piece of paper if you want that.” Then she cocked her head to the side and smirked. I know what you’re doing… At this point I said nothing and stared into her dead eyes. I began breathing through my flared out nostrils like a bull about to charge. I suddenly wanted to drag her across the counter and do very violent things to this person, who just ten minutes ago was a total stranger to me.
I finally hit a weird calm moment where if she said one more thing, I was going to blow. “Well, ma’am. How about you just tell me the total. I’m sure that’s possible, right?” She gave me the total, then printed up a paper for me to sign. The total was right on it. I looked at her and said, “I’ll be damned. There’s the total. On paper.” She looked at me with hate, but I think she knew she had poked the bear enough.
Later on that night, a cowboy at the show was talking to me while I was enjoying a nice Montecristo. “Can I ask you a question?” Sure. “How come every comedian I meet seems pissed off all the time?” That was the first time I laughed all night. Well, my rural friend, let me tell you a story… As a side note, that is the funniest question that has ever been asked to me related to comedy. Well done, Tex.
Leave a Comment
You must be logged in to post a comment.