Wednesday, March 14, 2018

That time Chicago made Rudy its bitch

A lot of you have asked what happened that made me want to drink during the tour.

Well, I didn't want to write about it because I didn't want to embarrass the band but, they're cool with me sharing so, here goes...

I wrecked the first bandwagon. Yep. My dumbass missed the clearance sign on a bridge and took out all three A/C units and the satellite dish.

How the fuck does that happen?

Because I am a dumbass who was too busy looking in a mirror to make sure my trailer didn't take out a sign while also watching traffic in the oncoming lane because most of the truck was in the oncoming lane.

I assumed the bridge was the same one I came into town under. I assumed wrong and ... boom, everything on the roof ended up on the street.

I got out of the truck and everything became sort of like a dream. I really did think, oh, I am going to wake up any minute. But I didn't.

Police were called, reports were made and debris picked up.

I limped the thing to Bowling Green, Indiana. Gutted, feeling like a complete fucking fuck up.

You're a fuck up and you'll always be a fuck up, he said. And I hear it again and know he was right.

They had a laugh and then dropped the bomb of cost on us. After insurance it is still going to be fucking expensive.

Take it out of my pay.

No.

With all that going on we still had a show in Cleveland to get to. They were gracious enough to give us another van. If traffic was not too bad we could make it just in time for load in.

On the six hour drive I got pretty good and down on myself. Made up my mind to hit the bar in Cleveland.

Just one.

Right. Because that's how it works.

I kept feeling worse. All those voices in my head that scream at me when I'm drunk were actually getting pretty loud sober. I was going to drink. And not just one.

You're a fuck up and you'll always be a fuck up.

Then a song came on that stopped me in my tracks.

She asked if I had considered the prospect of living alone

If I drink, she goes away.

So I spent the next four hours playing Southeastern on repeat talking to I don't know who in my head and out loud.

Four hours later I was still sober and felt pretty certain I would be when my head hit the pillow.

It wasn't the worst day of my life. But it sucked enough I almost blew it.

In hindsight, cost aside, it is fucking hilarious. Dumbass.

And please, no fucking pity. It happened, it sucked, I'm over it.

So there, now you all know.

Titty sprinkles!