Chapter 1
Mishap. If there were one word to describe backstage 3 hours before the first band went on stage it would be ‘mishap’. One would think that this being our second to last date on tour, we would be ready for this. One really would. But I think that as the tour goes on, we get even more disorganized. Yes, that’s right, even more disorganized. Last week we were in New York. Today? Sunny Pomona California. And wanna know that best part? I never get used to the time changes. Never.
Today was a particularly bad day on the tour. Mikey, guitar and vocals with me had left his guitar our apartment, in New York. We found this out about and hour ago. One of the roadies who knew the area had to go to the closest Guitar World and buy a new guitar for him. The roadie had left about 45 minutes ago and was still not back.
There had been a crowd out of the club sense about 4. 4 a.m. that is. It was about 3 p.m. right now. I thought it was sort of…amazing. We weren’t touring with anyone big, like Disco!. The show line up was Taxi, Simple Obligation, Lost and Found(our band) and, Menu. Menu being the ‘main’ band.
I let out a sigh and stood up. There was no use sitting around here doing nothing. I decided that I would go back to the bus and prey for a miracle. Or something like that. I walked behind the black curtain that someone had set up to keep the crowd out of ‘back stage’-which was just a small waiting room where we put everything that we couldn’t fit in the bus or was needed for later in the show. I hurried past some security guards and tried to find the back door.
After sometime of looking I found it and pushed. It didn’t move. I pushed harder. Still didn’t move. Was the whole world out to get me? A third time and I was thrust into the cold air. I let out another sigh; this one was more of relief. I walked next to the building and just as I rounded corner I heard someone call my name. I ignored it at first. I was outside; where there was the line of fans-though they probably didn’t know who we were-so I just assumed that it was a fan that actually knew who we were.
But then the voice got closer, and closer until it was right behind me.
And an arm around my shoulder was accompanied by that voice.
“Shit, Trey. Didn’t you hear me?” It was Patrick, our drummer. He was a nice guy, short and the skinniest little bitch I have ever met. Ever.
“What Patrick?” I was annoyed. All I wanted to do was go onto the bus, take a leak, and wait for that roadie to some back with Mikey’s guitar so we could get it ready. That and I needed to let out my anger on something, that something being my pillow-which constantly gets the crap beaten out of it.
“That roadie just called Mikey, he said he’d be here in about half an hour. Mikey was picky about the guitar that he wanted, and they only had one. He’s on his way but there’s traffic.”
“That’s great Patrick.” I shrugged him off and walked toward the bus, hunching my back against of the cold.
Today was going to be a long one. And it probably wasn’t going to be a good one.
