Standing Ova-Ation
It may go without saying, but camaraderie and trust are of utmost importance in a musical partnership since bands spend a lot of time in the studio, on the road, writing, and practicing. Tracy and I are no different as we spend long hours hashing out ideas, often working far into the wee hours after stressful work weeks at our normal jobs. Being able to laugh and reminisce about some of our more amusing past incidents is absolutely essential to our mental health and continued success. Here’s an amusing tale that we often recall from our historical catalog together:
All I can remember about the beginning of this story is that it must’ve been hot, because I had no shoes on. It must’ve been close to the beginning of the spring semester at Clemson University, because I don’t remember Tracy ever being around during summer school, whereas I spent one summer in Clemson because I had to drop Thermo”damn”namics and had to retake it to keep up the pace of the curriculum. Yep, I was a geek. Or a nerd. Possibly both. Maybe I’m still classified as at least one of these; I’m an engineer by profession. Anyway, Tracy was there, I was there, it was hot, and I had no shoes on. I also can tell you that Tracy’s future wife was there, and I think one other female. It was later in the evening, and we were all famished. We desired breakfast food. You can call it brinner or deakfest if you like.
To avoid any legal ramifications, let’s just say we had one choice in Clemson for food at this time of evening called Fuddle House. Maybe some of you out there feel that this particular establishment offers quality food, and perhaps in a pinch it would do, but Second October always feels that Awful House (name also changed to protect the innocent) provides consistently superior omelets which we were in the mood for. This particular establishment also boasted a working jukebox which, often to the chagrin of the other patrons, would routinely be commandeered by one or both of us. The closest Awful House was located in the distant corner of Seneca, perhaps 15 to 20 miles away (incidentally, we would record a song called Distant Corner years later that would have absolutely nothing to do with this story…or does it?). With our greasy destination chosen, we hopped in my red 1992 Honda Prelude, and struck out.
Upon arrival at the place we hoped would solve our hunger issue, we ambled to the door, and walked right in. Not only were we greeted by harsh fluorescent light but also a broad-bellied, apron-befrocked, spatula-wielding, frowning countenance behind the counter. Let’s call him “Larry.” His piercing gaze was focused curiously on my bare feet. Uh-oh. Was there a “No shoes, no service” sign on the door as we came in that I missed? This is Seneca, South Carolina, right? This is an Awful House, right? Surely, I cannot be offending the rules of this fine establishment, right? He knew I was a direct descendant of Abe Froman, right? Wrong. “You can’t come in here without shoes,” Larry barked.
My world was crushed. My stomach threatened to eat the rest of me from the inside out. What had I done to the rest of my friends? I was famished. They were famished. I told them to eat without me but they refused. Wow, what loyalty! There was no way I was going to drive all the way back to Clemson to get a pair of freakin’ shoes. What could I do? Could I wrap leaves around my feet? Towels? Wait a minute! What was in my trunk? Rollerblades! They’re shoes, right? Nah, I’m sure that the manager would have something to say about my rolling around his Awful House floor. Then it dawned on me. As Tracy and the crew watched, I calmly slipped the boot-like purple and aqua liners out of the inline skates, placed them on my feet, slammed shut the trunk to the Prelude, and turned proudly around to defiantly face the Awful House entrance. It just so happened that the liners, with their tongues flapping loosely out front, perfectly matched my shirt which had broad purple and aqua stripes across it – evidence that we had just emerged from the ’80s. This was all meant to be.
By this time, the patrons already inside consuming their brinner/deakfast had started to notice the unfolding drama around them. As I strode confidently to the door, people inside were already chuckling and some were even beginning to applaud. Tracy and the girls were laughing, and when the manager who had ousted me the first time saw what adorned my feet, he threw his hands up and conceded as if to say, “If I don’t let you in, all these people applauding are gonna riot.”
We had our omelets, they were delicious, and we’ll always have a darned good story to break the tension when a studio night gets tense or tedious. Give a listen to our latest studio creation entitled Second Thoughts by clicking on this link. We think it goes well with a nice omelet and some toast and jelly.
That’s great man. I love me some roller-blading hi-jinx!
???You should pitch a commercial to the A House that ends with you Guys at the Same table … and your music is playing on the jukebox. The Aroma of Bacon complements the the sweet smell of Success…???
Would “Larry” still be there? He’d be pretty old by now – probably would’ve lost most of his bark and all of his bite. Maybe we left him with a funny story to tell his grandkids. Thanks for reading our blog – this one was purely for fun, but we can’t make this stuff up! Cheers!