King's X '99 (Issue 2: Airline Booze and Cramped Shoes)
So we were on our way to the bustling metropolis of Porterville. Five of us met at Lester's place. It was pretty cool, I thought, that he had volunteered to drive us all in his van. Upon arriving at Lester's, we all realized that none of us had ever been to Porterville before and nobody was quite sure of the best way to get there. I had looked at a roadmap earlier that day (being the worry wort I am about getting to shows on time) and made my suggestion. But Lester had queried Mapquest.com and printed out the directions. I didn't recognize any of the roads, highways or landmarks on these instructions, but figured it must be the best route. After picking up Chris at his house in Sanger, another small town near Fresno, we headed out onto the open road.
We all had some good laughs on the way to the show, telling stories and cracking jokes. The six of us rarely had the chance to get together anymore and it felt good to take a road trip. But it was a long hour getting there. Much of the drive was on a two lane strip where passing was forbidden and we got stuck behind Sunday drivers, old beat up pickup trucks and one tractor. Going 40mph in the middle of nowhere can drive this boy crazy when there's a concert to get to.
Our plan was to find some place to eat and get a few drinks before the show. But first we had to find the Memorial Auditorium. I assumed this would be easy. Most buildings with names like "Memorial this" and "Community that" usually can be found downtown in little places like Porterville. All we had to do was find Olive avenue and keep an eye out. So as we pulled into town, we all peered out the windows of the van for places to eat and drink. It was around 6pm or so and many places were closed already. We came to Olive and turned left. Not much to see on this street going in this direction, we thought as we counted down the addresses towards the 415 W. Olive that was printed on our tickets. My theory was proving to be wrong as this didn't seem to be downtown-like at all. We approached the 400 block of Olive and all of us had our heads bobbing up and down, trying to make out addresses on buildings as we crawled by. We came upon Porterville High School and resumed our search for the Memorial Auditorium after passing it. But wait! Now the addresses were in the 300s. What the hell happened? Did we miss it? It didn't occur to anyone in the van that the Auditorium was on the campus of the high school until we'd traversed Olive Avenue between the 300 and 500 blocks 7 or 8 times. Brilliant.
Now that we knew where the concert was going to be, we set out for some dinner. We found a local restuarant that was pretty good, but they were closing soon, so we didn't hang around for more drinks after eating. We'd seen a roadhouse bar as we entered town and decided we'd get a few beers in our bellies, so we piled back in the van and drove over.
Walking in, we noticed right away that we didn't look like regulars. None of us had cowboy hats on. We crossed through the bar to find some empty barstools. I got some classic "low budget action movie bad guy-type" looks from over the hunched shoulders of the bleary-eyed barflys as I strode to the very end of the bar. It wasn't intimidating, just kind of amusing. I fought the urge to slam some money on the bar and yell "Whiskey" at the bartender like in the old westerns. Instead, I politely ordered a bottle of Coors Light and thanked the man when he brought it. A couple of the guys went over to the jukebox to see if they could bump the country garbage that was pumping out of the circa 1977, colored strobe lighted and much too loud machine. It looked more like a cigarette machine than a jukebox and I wondered aloud how many drunken cowboys mixed the two up; "Yeeehaw! I punched in 102B to play me some Waylon and got this here pack of Winstons free!"
We watched the crowd thin a bit after a while, I suppose because it was a Sunday night and the promise of hard work the next day beckoned some of them home. But those that stayed provided much entertainment. I watched one couple argue, each do a shot of something blue (I hoped it wasn't Windex) and then dance together to Patsy Cline's "Crazy". At the end of the song, they walked over to their barstools hand in hand. They each sat down and immediately started up their argument, presumably from the point they'd left off from upon hearing Patsy over those crackling speakers hanging from the dusty rafters of the place.
After a couple more beers apiece, we thought maybe we'd like to have something to drink at the show. Being pretty sure that we wouldn't be able to purchase booze on a high school campus, we tried to think of ways to get beer inside the joint. Then I had a brainstorm; we could buy those little bottles of liquor that they have on airplanes. They're small, so we could get them in with no problem. But then the paranoia got to us and we envisioned getting searched and tossed out of the place. So I suggested that we stuff the bottles in our shoes. At that time, I was hailed by my buddies as a genius.
We walked into the liquor store that shared the parking lot with the bar and went up to the counter. The shelves behind the clerk housed an array of the tiny bottles of booze. I always wondered why a store would carry those things. Who buys liquor one ounce at a time? A very patient alcoholic? I scanned over the variety of spirits and realized I had no idea of what kind to buy. I'm pretty much a beer man and never had a taste for the hard stuff. I used to drink gin years ago mixed with Collins Mix or tonic. But I once drank so much while camping that as I perspired, I took to smelling like a Christmas tree for two days. So it was back to beer for me.
After I thought about it for a minute, I realized that this was a rock concert and rock concerts call for Jack Daniels. I bought two little bottles and the other guys purchased an assortment of liquor. In the parking lot, I put my foot up on the bumper of Lester's van and loosened the shoelaces of my tennis shoes. I lifted the tongue and inserted one of the cute little bottles. I then retied the laces, put my foot down and asked the guys, "How does that look?"
"Like ya got a damn clubfoot" piped Randy.
"Or gout", added Chet.
"Nice shoe, Elephant Man", laughed Eric and as I looked down I realized that it did look pretty funny. My foot looked swollen and maybe a little deformed. I laughed along with them but added that at least I'd get my booze inside because they wouldn't bother with my feet during any kind of pat down.
"I wouldn't touch those deformities, either", bellowed Lester. More laughter.
I thought we'd better get going so I said, "Alright, alright. It's gonna be dark when we get there anyway. They're not going to even notice. Let's head over there."
On the short drive over to the campus, we all stuffed our shoes with the airline bottles. Pulling into the parking lot, we got excited when we saw the tour bus. It wasn't a hoax; King's X was here and was going to actually play a show. Lester pulled into a spot pretty close to the entrance, turned off the ignition and we all tumbled out of the van. A muted chorus of "ouch" and "oomph" was sung by all six of us. We hadn't road-tested the Bottle-Shoes. With the bottles running the length of the tops of our feet, it was impossible to walk heel to toe without intense pain. We all started doing a stiff legged shuffle towards the door. Clomping down flat footed with each step, we must have looked like extras from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video.
"Shit, man. I don't think I can make it", said Eric.
"Just a few more steps to the door. You can't take the bottles out now, man. The dudes at the door will see you", warned Chet.
We somehow made it to the door without our eyes tearing up from the pain. The guys at the door tore out tickets and it was here that I expected the pat down. I was looking at the guys over my shoulder and winking, assuring them that the shoe trick would work. Then one of the door guys said the unthinkable at that moment:
"Enjoy the show, guys."
What? No pat down? We needlessly tortured our feet? I couldn't even turn around and face my fellow smugglers. We could have come in walking on barrels of Jack Daniels like circus bears and these two door guys wouldn't think it any different. All that planning gone to waste.
But we were inside and ready to rock. We all went straight into the restroom to extract the instruments of pain from our shoes. The first steps without the bottles felt like walking on the moon. We headed into the Auditorium to see that it was almost completely empty. I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, we'd get killer seats. But on the other hand, it looked like it was going to be a poor turnout and I always get concerned that bands feed off of that. We'd just have to see, I thought.
We walked down the aisle and took up six seats dead center stage in the second row. In the front row were some high school kids and in front of them was about ten feet of floor space, probably used as an orchestra pit. Chet and I eyed that space and thought that we'd most likely end up there before too long. Galactic Cowboys were going to come on soon and I told Chet, "I'm going to go apeshit if they play Pump Up the Spacesuit. I'm gonna trample these pups in front of us and just do it".
"I'm with you, man", was his reply.
"Heh heh, yeah", I snickered.
Next: The finale to King's X '99 (Issue 3: Rockin' Porterville and Using The Lester)
We all had some good laughs on the way to the show, telling stories and cracking jokes. The six of us rarely had the chance to get together anymore and it felt good to take a road trip. But it was a long hour getting there. Much of the drive was on a two lane strip where passing was forbidden and we got stuck behind Sunday drivers, old beat up pickup trucks and one tractor. Going 40mph in the middle of nowhere can drive this boy crazy when there's a concert to get to.
Our plan was to find some place to eat and get a few drinks before the show. But first we had to find the Memorial Auditorium. I assumed this would be easy. Most buildings with names like "Memorial this" and "Community that" usually can be found downtown in little places like Porterville. All we had to do was find Olive avenue and keep an eye out. So as we pulled into town, we all peered out the windows of the van for places to eat and drink. It was around 6pm or so and many places were closed already. We came to Olive and turned left. Not much to see on this street going in this direction, we thought as we counted down the addresses towards the 415 W. Olive that was printed on our tickets. My theory was proving to be wrong as this didn't seem to be downtown-like at all. We approached the 400 block of Olive and all of us had our heads bobbing up and down, trying to make out addresses on buildings as we crawled by. We came upon Porterville High School and resumed our search for the Memorial Auditorium after passing it. But wait! Now the addresses were in the 300s. What the hell happened? Did we miss it? It didn't occur to anyone in the van that the Auditorium was on the campus of the high school until we'd traversed Olive Avenue between the 300 and 500 blocks 7 or 8 times. Brilliant.
Now that we knew where the concert was going to be, we set out for some dinner. We found a local restuarant that was pretty good, but they were closing soon, so we didn't hang around for more drinks after eating. We'd seen a roadhouse bar as we entered town and decided we'd get a few beers in our bellies, so we piled back in the van and drove over.
Walking in, we noticed right away that we didn't look like regulars. None of us had cowboy hats on. We crossed through the bar to find some empty barstools. I got some classic "low budget action movie bad guy-type" looks from over the hunched shoulders of the bleary-eyed barflys as I strode to the very end of the bar. It wasn't intimidating, just kind of amusing. I fought the urge to slam some money on the bar and yell "Whiskey" at the bartender like in the old westerns. Instead, I politely ordered a bottle of Coors Light and thanked the man when he brought it. A couple of the guys went over to the jukebox to see if they could bump the country garbage that was pumping out of the circa 1977, colored strobe lighted and much too loud machine. It looked more like a cigarette machine than a jukebox and I wondered aloud how many drunken cowboys mixed the two up; "Yeeehaw! I punched in 102B to play me some Waylon and got this here pack of Winstons free!"
We watched the crowd thin a bit after a while, I suppose because it was a Sunday night and the promise of hard work the next day beckoned some of them home. But those that stayed provided much entertainment. I watched one couple argue, each do a shot of something blue (I hoped it wasn't Windex) and then dance together to Patsy Cline's "Crazy". At the end of the song, they walked over to their barstools hand in hand. They each sat down and immediately started up their argument, presumably from the point they'd left off from upon hearing Patsy over those crackling speakers hanging from the dusty rafters of the place.
After a couple more beers apiece, we thought maybe we'd like to have something to drink at the show. Being pretty sure that we wouldn't be able to purchase booze on a high school campus, we tried to think of ways to get beer inside the joint. Then I had a brainstorm; we could buy those little bottles of liquor that they have on airplanes. They're small, so we could get them in with no problem. But then the paranoia got to us and we envisioned getting searched and tossed out of the place. So I suggested that we stuff the bottles in our shoes. At that time, I was hailed by my buddies as a genius.
We walked into the liquor store that shared the parking lot with the bar and went up to the counter. The shelves behind the clerk housed an array of the tiny bottles of booze. I always wondered why a store would carry those things. Who buys liquor one ounce at a time? A very patient alcoholic? I scanned over the variety of spirits and realized I had no idea of what kind to buy. I'm pretty much a beer man and never had a taste for the hard stuff. I used to drink gin years ago mixed with Collins Mix or tonic. But I once drank so much while camping that as I perspired, I took to smelling like a Christmas tree for two days. So it was back to beer for me.
After I thought about it for a minute, I realized that this was a rock concert and rock concerts call for Jack Daniels. I bought two little bottles and the other guys purchased an assortment of liquor. In the parking lot, I put my foot up on the bumper of Lester's van and loosened the shoelaces of my tennis shoes. I lifted the tongue and inserted one of the cute little bottles. I then retied the laces, put my foot down and asked the guys, "How does that look?"
"Like ya got a damn clubfoot" piped Randy.
"Or gout", added Chet.
"Nice shoe, Elephant Man", laughed Eric and as I looked down I realized that it did look pretty funny. My foot looked swollen and maybe a little deformed. I laughed along with them but added that at least I'd get my booze inside because they wouldn't bother with my feet during any kind of pat down.
"I wouldn't touch those deformities, either", bellowed Lester. More laughter.
I thought we'd better get going so I said, "Alright, alright. It's gonna be dark when we get there anyway. They're not going to even notice. Let's head over there."
On the short drive over to the campus, we all stuffed our shoes with the airline bottles. Pulling into the parking lot, we got excited when we saw the tour bus. It wasn't a hoax; King's X was here and was going to actually play a show. Lester pulled into a spot pretty close to the entrance, turned off the ignition and we all tumbled out of the van. A muted chorus of "ouch" and "oomph" was sung by all six of us. We hadn't road-tested the Bottle-Shoes. With the bottles running the length of the tops of our feet, it was impossible to walk heel to toe without intense pain. We all started doing a stiff legged shuffle towards the door. Clomping down flat footed with each step, we must have looked like extras from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video.
"Shit, man. I don't think I can make it", said Eric.
"Just a few more steps to the door. You can't take the bottles out now, man. The dudes at the door will see you", warned Chet.
We somehow made it to the door without our eyes tearing up from the pain. The guys at the door tore out tickets and it was here that I expected the pat down. I was looking at the guys over my shoulder and winking, assuring them that the shoe trick would work. Then one of the door guys said the unthinkable at that moment:
"Enjoy the show, guys."
What? No pat down? We needlessly tortured our feet? I couldn't even turn around and face my fellow smugglers. We could have come in walking on barrels of Jack Daniels like circus bears and these two door guys wouldn't think it any different. All that planning gone to waste.
But we were inside and ready to rock. We all went straight into the restroom to extract the instruments of pain from our shoes. The first steps without the bottles felt like walking on the moon. We headed into the Auditorium to see that it was almost completely empty. I didn't know how to feel about that. On one hand, we'd get killer seats. But on the other hand, it looked like it was going to be a poor turnout and I always get concerned that bands feed off of that. We'd just have to see, I thought.
We walked down the aisle and took up six seats dead center stage in the second row. In the front row were some high school kids and in front of them was about ten feet of floor space, probably used as an orchestra pit. Chet and I eyed that space and thought that we'd most likely end up there before too long. Galactic Cowboys were going to come on soon and I told Chet, "I'm going to go apeshit if they play Pump Up the Spacesuit. I'm gonna trample these pups in front of us and just do it".
"I'm with you, man", was his reply.
"Heh heh, yeah", I snickered.
Next: The finale to King's X '99 (Issue 3: Rockin' Porterville and Using The Lester)
posted by Tony at 2:08 PM
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