March 14, 2008
Tour Blog: Columbia — The Intersection
Written by Girth McDürchstein on March 14, 2008 7:17 PM
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Happy Heartland Tour -- The Midwest '08
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The venue we had scheduled for last night was called The Intersection. Based on the name, I figured it’d be some kind of hipper-than-thou electronica club where people get trashed on ecstasy and groove all night long. The fact that Columbia, Missouri, is a college town all but confirmed that fact—but when we all showed up at their building, we were as baffled as they were.
The Intersection building is a huge, old place—very opulent and well-decorated considering they’re a nonprofit. When we walked in and went to the reception desk, Margo—who, thanks to her politeness and intense hotness, has become the head of the band’s communications department until Lacey joins us in St. Louis—introduced us and the receptionist asked, “Who?”
Margo stared, slackjawed. Then it dawned on her: “Oh, we changed our name from Jupiter Starshine Collective.”
The receptionist gave Margo what you could politely call a dirty look, then picked up the phone. “Yeah… we have a situation here.”
A few minutes later, we were joined in the lobby by a mountainous woman named Carrie. As soon as he saw her, the receptionist leap from the desk and went over to her. They whispered things I couldn’t really her, although Mikey later told me he thought he heard him whisper, “Abysmal Crucifix,” followed by Carrie gasping, “Abysmal Crucifix?!” just before they both approached us.
“Well,” Carrie huffed, “it seems there’s been a bit of a mix-up. We did not hire you for entertainment—we brought you here to perform celebrity volunteer work.”
“What?!” Riffs snapped.
“Quiet,” I said. “This’ll go toward my community service.”
“Community…service?” Carrie looked stunned, despite it being a matter of public record.
Fortunately, the receptionist said, “Of course, your community service. That’s why we asked for you by name, Mister…?”
“McDürchstein.”
The receptionist frowned.
“If you just wait here,” Carrie said, “we’ll have our van take y’all to the Goodwill Store on Nifong.”
“We have our own van,” I said cheerfully.
Carrie and the receptionist swapped meangingful glances. Unfortunately, the meaning was lost on me. Carrie said, “Yes…but…”
The receptionist piped in, “The van ride will count as community service time if we drive you.”
“Fantastic,” I said.
When I heard Mikey and Carl muttering behind my back, it occurred to me that perhaps the rest of the band—the ones not unjustly forced to perform community service—might have a problem with this arrangement.
“A little volunteer work never hurt anybody,” I noted.
“Yeah, but we’re not volunteering,” Mikey grumbled. “This is forced labor.”
Just then, the van driver showed up and led us through the building to the rear parking lot. They drove us to a small, poorly kept store near the center of town. The driver led us inside through the back entrance, where we were treated to the delightful aesthetic of an old boiler room. Huge industrial clothes hampers and clothing racks cluttered the huge, high-ceilinged room. Two men and a women were already working, sorting clothes. They looked up when we walked in, then ignored us.
The driver went to the front and returned with another woman, this one around our age and fairly good-looking. Suddenly, Mikey, Riffs, and Carl didn’t have a problem with “forced labor.”
“Hey, all,” she said. “My name’s Kelly. I run the place. These folks—” she gestured at the fat men and Asiatic woman— “are Gregory, Thom with an ‘H’—”
“With an ‘H’!” Thom roared.
We all gave him a puzzled look, but Kelly didn’t seem to even notice the outburst. “—and Janet,” she finished. “They’ll show you how to sort.”
“I’m a professional model,” Margo said. “I’m fairly sure I know how to sort clothing.”
“La-de-da,” Kelly said, eliciting a chuckle from Carl.
Mikey punched him on the arm as if to say, “Lay off my woman.”
“We don’t exactly sell the kind of clothes a ‘model’—” with the air-quotes and everything— “like yourself is used to, but I’m sure your ‘experience’ will help. If you need anything, I’ll be behind the counter out front. Pleasure meeting y’all.”
As soon as she left, Margo spat, “What a bitch!”
“Bitch!” Thom yelled.
Janet made a guttural noise of disapproval.
“She’s so hot, though,” Mikey said.
“So, so hot,” Carl added.
“Get to work,” Gregory snapped.
“What do you want us to do?” I asked.
“Sort.”
When nobody made a move to do anything, Gregory sighed. He took a tiny pink shirt out of one of the hampers. “This—it’s little and pink. Kids’. Girls’. Make a pile. You make piles for girls, boys, men, women. If you aren’t sure, make a miscellaneous pile and ask about it when you’re done.”
“Sounds easy—”
“Well, it’s not!” Gregory snapped, beating a fist on a table and messing up his piles. “Now look what you did!” He raised a heavily tattooed forearm and showed us his middle finger.
“This’ll be fun,” Margo whispered.
There weren’t enough hampers for everyone, so we doubled up—Margo and me at one, Carl and Mikey at another, and Riffs paired up with Janet, who made goo-goo eyes at him.
After about 20 minutes of quiet sorting, Margo said, “I don’t understand what’s happening here. Community service is all well and good, but Lacey told us we were going to be playing here. Do you think I should call her?”
“If you want to,” I shrugged.
She pulled out her cell phone, and immediately Gregory yelled, “No!”
Margo gave him a dirty look and started dialing, so Gregory stalked over. He looked much, much more frightening standing up—a head taller than me (and I’m pretty tall), covered in alarming yet awesome tattoos, and although he was fat, he was the kind of fat a guy becomes after spending decades as a well-muscled hulk-man, meaning there was probably still a lot underneath his layer of fat. He grabbed her cell phone and crushed it in one hand.
“Jesus,” Margo gasped.
“You said it,” Gregory sneered. “No cell phones.”
“You could’ve just told me that,” Margo said. “That cell phone cost me…well, it was only $30 with my plan, but it retails at—”
“Suck it up, bitch—”
“Hey!” I yelled, but before I could do anything manly, Margo had kicked him in the neck—hard.
Choking, Gregory slammed backward into a costume rack, knocking it over as he fell into a sea of clothes and hangers.
“Don’t call me ‘bitch,’” Margo said politely, leaving a dazed Gregory gasping for breath and clutching his neck.
She turned around, and it occurred to both of us simultaneously that Thom and Janet were staring, slackjawed.
“I…um…I used to run a dojo in Japan,” Margo lied. “It’s very rare and prestigious for a westerner to run one, and…well…” She couldn’t remember any more of Steven Seagal’s biographical information, so she just kinda trailed off. Fortunately, Thom and Janet didn’t seem to have a clue what was happening.
Margo sat back beside me and whispered, “There’s something pretty fucked up happening here. I really should call Lacey. Let me borrow your phone.”
“No way, man,” I said. “I’m using Renal’s iPhone.”
“Don’t mention that goddamn name—”
“Well, it was hers. What am I supposed to say, ‘she whose name I dare not speak’?”
“You wanna end up like Gregory?” Margo asked sweetly.
I glanced at him long enough to realize he was coughing up blood. I shook my head.
“Give me the goddamn phone,” she whispered. I slipped the iPhone into her palm, and she shoved it into a pocket of her too-tight leather pants.
“I’m going to take a break,” Margo announced.
“Break?” Thom asked.
“Well, Thom, the law in most states is you’re required a paid 15-minute break for every four hours worked.”
“You’ve been here 20 minutes,” Janet said, and it occurred to me that she had an odd lisp and choked-sounding voice. I glanced at Gregory again to make sure he wasn’t a ventriloquist—no, that was just the way Janet talked.
“So I’ll work straight through the next three hours and 25 minutes,” Margo said. “Is that acceptable?”
“I don’t make the rules,” Janet said. “I just follow them.”
“Fuck the rules,” Margo growled, which made Janet gasp.
Margo went outside. About five minutes later, she ambled back into the store.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
“They’re full of shit,” Margo said. “Legally, your community service has to happen in Los Angeles County or it’s no good.”
“Bastards!” I shrieked.
“Bastards!” Thom repeated.
“YOU’RE GOING TO HELL!” Janet suddenly screamed, running into the front of the store. We heard a loud crash, followed by Kelly shouting, “What the fuck?!”
“HELLLLLLLLL!” Janet roared.
“Come on!” I yelled to the others. “We’re making a break for it!”
“But—” Mikey started.
“Oh, Christ, Kelly was never gonna bone you,” Margo yelped. “We have to go!”
Mikey looked dejected, Carl looked suspiciously competent, and I’m pretty sure Riffs was asleep. I ran and grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet. We all ran outside.
“I’ll deal with the van driver,” Margo said, sounding like nothing would give her more pleasure. “Wait here.”
We watched Margo slink around to the passenger side of the van. The door opened, and we couldn’t see or hear anything. A sudden spray of blood spattered the window.”
“Shit!” I gasped. “Did she kill another menial employee?”
“He’s probably not dead!” came Margo’s muffled response. The driver-side door opened, and the body of the driver fell out. He was bleeding, incapacitated but shaking and, somehow, still looked conscious. Margo shoved herself into the driver’s seat in his place, and yelled, “Hop in!”
We did.
Within half an hour, we had recovered our touring van and decided to unwind at a coffee shop on the university campus, discussing what, exactly, had happened.
“Lacey says she thinks the sudden shift from Jupiter-style pop to Abysmalosity might scare some people off. They probably took one look at us and knew we were no good.”
“Well, fuck them!” Carl said. “We should find somewhere else to play.”
“It’s too last-minute,” I said. “Let’s just go on to St. Louis.”
“No,” Margo said. “I’m with Carl on this one. We were supposed to play the Intersection. Let’s play.”
And so we set up our equipment at the awkward intersection of Rollins and Hitt, right in the heart of the campus. Nobody seemed enthusiastic about our blocking traffic, but the police didn’t make any effort to stop us. Around 6:30, we had it all prepared and launched into “Put It Where It Doesn’t Belong.” I don’t mind telling you, it drew a crowd.
We kept playing, and the crowd kept growing in size. For the first time since Japan, it felt like the audience really got it. We even tried out “Meth Amp City” to wild applause. It’s hard to explain how the power of a good audience can energize you, but suddenly I’m feeling great about this tour.
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