My show last Saturday was in Roanoke, Virginia. It was a little rough at first, because my GPS is about three years behind the city planners apparently. I went to call the venue, but realized my phone was in my car two blocks away. By the time we got there, the manager was busy so I was rather flustered. Plus I barely had time to get a beer, you know, the most important part of my pre-show ritual. The show went very well, though – that is until afterwards.
Everyone that came up was very friendly, not friendly enough to buy some damn shirts, but they shook my hand and that’s the same (sarcasm, in case it’s not dripping off your screen right now). Then a woman came up with her husband/boyfriend/who gives a shit. She was probably 40ish, short and rather sassy. She looked at Steve (the headliner) and said, “You know what joke I didn’t like at all?” Hate rose up inside me in one sentence. After four minutes of watching potential sales roll past while she rambled on, I debated whether a jail sentence would be worth doing what I was thinking to her.
The fun continued! Once again to Steve, “You did a joke about a threesome. He had one in college!” I looked at her dude and he just nodded. Who tells a stranger that? Who cares to know that? I almost sarcastically high fived him and yelled, “Good shit, vag master!” She finally made eye contact with me, unfortunately and said, “I’m going to a concert later.” “Who’s in town tonight?” Her: “It’s in two weeks.” Me: “Why did you say later?” She ignored me and said, “He doesn’t want me go because he thinks I’ll cheat on him.” All I could think was that I hoped she cheated on him by making out with a shotgun. I couldn’t take anymore and walked away, leaving my merchandise to the masses and forgoing potential sales. Thankfully, when I returned from the restroom, she was gone…perhaps kidnapped by al-Qaeda or some other group I would actually have a favorable opinion of for five minutes.