A Holiday Story

Not all Thanksgiving days are with familial relations at a familiar location. In fact a lot of mine have been with the "family" you make at the time.

Traditions on the road are not at ALL the same as with familial situations and being the band at the bar the week of Thanksgiving creates very odd "families" indeed. Most bars would close and the hotel/motel chains didn't give you pay for the day.

At one such chain in LaGrange, GEORGIA (not to be confused with the one in Texas with the cat house as referenced in the ZZ Top song) the manager was a sweet woman with motherly instincts and had invited her staff over for Thanksgiving. She could't get us paid for the day so she invited the band over as well.

The drummer who was the ladies man of the band and the rhythm guitar player who ran a close second had hooked up with some lonely hearts club ladies the night before and that left the Canadian bass player and I to represent the band at the manager's soiree.

We timed it out as best we could to get there as close to serving time as possible as the bass player wasn't good at small talk. Bless his heart, he has the unique ability to piss people off just by asking where the bathroom is. To insure we would get fed BEFORE we got kicked out we would minimize the pre dinner socializing.

The plan went well as we got there with beer and liquor and had just gotten it all situated as needed when the dinner bell rang. The meal was as good as anybody's feast is on that day and the bass player didn't seem to be getting on these people's nerves, yet.

Having a Florida license tag in Georgia during football season can invite an ass whooping and we were deep in the heart of Georgia. Luckily no one at the party seemed very concerned but a local deputy seemed to take exception with a van from Florida being in this upper middle class neighborhood.

Concerned enough to stop and run my drivers license for outstanding warrants and question my reason for being on his part of the planet during the drug war. You see, back then longhair types from Florida were also on the "profile" list. The "profile" list is what the police use to determine the probability that a vehicle is carrying DRUGS.

He didn't have probable cause to search as we were parked at the end of a long driveway but not in the street.

The shindig continues into the night and bless my heart, I'm in wide open party mode when a pretty cocktail waitress from the bar comes up and gives me 4 or 5 pills of different colors so I immediately ate them. She gets a disappointed look on her face and says," Noooo! You did it all WRONG!". She huffs, slings her head back and marches off in disgust. Did it to myself again. Her friend explained that had I been patient we would have been making sweet love all night but doing them all at once ruins the experience. Damn it, man.

About two hours later I'm laying on this nice and cool concrete area in a quiet part of the driveway waiting to puke. My bass player has begun to unsettle the natives and he finds me on the cool, comfortable cement spot I had found and says, "Come on man, get up. I think it's a good idea we leave now".

I look up at all 3 of him and stick my hand in the direction that I think is up as I try to make the sounds that make the words, "Ok but you have to drive". He and a passer by help me to my very shaky legs.

"I can't drive" he says, I've had a few beers and the cop can't smell pills on your breath. You drive". "Man, I can't hardly stand up and I'm seeing triple."

"Just drive in the middle".

"I'm ENTIRELY TOO FUCKED UP, man and that cop is around somewhere".

"You haven't been drinking since you dropped them pills so you won't be over the limit".

"He'll know I'm on something".

"I can't chance it, man." The bass player was trying to get his U.S citizenship so he couldn't afford to get busted for ANYTHING. There was no option to stay so...

"Alright man but you've got to help me navigate and not too slow either, speed limit".

Sure enough as we pull out of the driveway and head for the main drag the cop is on my bumper.

I'm sweating profusely as I'm doing my best to maintain proper speed and lane position. The cop is in my rearview mirror watching my every move.

"How am I doing man? Am I in the middle? Is this the turn? Am I too close?"

It's 30* outside, I've got my window down and I'm pouring sweat, the drive takes FOREVER and my asshole has been puckered up tight for hours it seems with that cop following us ALL the way back to the hotel.

"This is it" the bass player says as he points to a parking spot. My asshole unpuckers as the cop speeds away and we get up stairs to our room. I fall down into my bed relieved to be back safe. The bass player goes in the bathroom and starts his lengthy bed time routine.

I'm getting the spins setting up straight and I know I'm fixing to lose all that wonderful Thanksgiving meal. The trash can is full. I'm afraid to heave out the front door because that could attract unwanted attention. Finally the bass player comes out of the bathroom and I rush in and vomit with the force of a fire hose.

After several hours of dry heaving I can FINALLY lay down without spinning and my bass player says "If I knew you were THAT fucked up I would have driven"

Peace and Love!