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On A Saturday Night Far, Far From Home

This is my tale from the crypt.

“Dude, Steve is lit. He put down a fifth and a half of Jack and is quitting the band.”

Great. Thirty minutes before we’re supposed to go on and the keyboard player quits. Can it get worse?

“I tried talking him down but he just looks right through me. He can’t stand the way Ricky treats Valerie (Our lead vocalist) and he promises to completely (expletive) our night.” Oh God!!!

Steve is a thug of a human being, think fire plug with two arms and two legs. But what a voice; Baritone silk coupled with brilliant keyboard expertise. How could this happen? Damn, damn, damn.

I’m sure Steve has the hots for Valerie. But he is completely out of his league and drinks way too much. Hormones, alcohol, blind drunk, 30 minutes before the gig. Damn, damn, damn.

I look at the sax player, “Man, we’re gonna have to do this as a 5 piece. You’re going to fill the holes with melody and we’re going to pull this off.”

It Has To Start Somewhere

Sure enough, three songs into the first set, blam, Steve storms into the room, yelling and screaming, cursing the band, physically threatening everyone. We are called everything in the book. Steve knocks over chairs and tables, confronting patrons and plowing through the bar. The bouncers round him up and haul him out the front door. Good bye Steve.

A Happy Ending

Third set, and the band is killing it. The room loves us. Must’ve been the adrenaline and fake smiles. We groove hard, making up for our drunk, forlorn band mate. We re-book the gig.

Good news for Steve. He becomes a solo act in the lounge down the street. Everyone wins.

The Moral Of The Story

Stuff happens for a reason. What seems like a horror story maybe is not. Do your best no matter what and good things can happen. See, sometimes that tale from the crypt isn’t so bad.

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