Being
sick on tour absolutely sucks. When you
tour as much as I do then it’s bound to happen.
We have all had our bouts of illness while on the road and it’s never
fun. One time Ryan developed some kind
of cist on his tail bone that made him look like he was growing a tail. It was the size of an egg and was
excruciatingly painful for him. He could
barely walk and certainly couldn’t sit down.
None of us had health insurance at the time and when it just kept
getting worse he was really close to letting me lance it open with a razor
blade. Thankfully his family doctor
agreed to see him “on the down low” so to speak and removed it for him free of
charge. I was kind of disappointed that
I wasn’t going to get to try my hand at third world surgery, but I knew it was
for the best.
I woke
up in A Coruña feeling tried and lazy. I
just figured it was the coffee moonshine in combination with late nights, three
weeks of no exercise, and my horrible diet here in Europe . We had a long drive to Madrid that day so I said “fuck it” and made
every gas station candy isle my bitch that day.
We stopped at a lot of gas stations…
The club
was the Wurlitzer ballroom. They really
were being overly gracious when they tacked on the whole “ballroom” thing. It was a dirty rock club that was perfect for
us. The promoter was a gregarious guy
with a really unique accent. I had
noticed a place that had Paella across the street. One of the things I wanted to do in Spain was to
eat some really authentic Paella. I’ve had
it once or twice, but I really wanted to try authentic Paella in Spain . He tells me never to get it at a place that
says PAELLA anywhere out front, and he says I should probably get it when I get
back to the shore. I was expecting that
answer. I thanked him and we had our old
stand by (the Gyro) for dinner.
We
stayed at the Hostel Tokio, which was walking distance from the club. I for one was hoping that it would be in the Asian
part of town based on the name; however that was not the case. The entrance was a discreet iron-clad door on
a side street that should have been named the Spanish translation of “tranny
hooker alley,” because that’s what it was.
As we walked in to this creepy old building I was sure that this was it…
We had met our doom. This had to be the
point where all along we find out this tour is a sham and Marco is selling us
into sexual slavery. We trudged up some
stairs to what I’m convinced is going to be some sort of rapey sex
dungeon. Surprisingly, when the door
opened there was a sweet old Spanish lady sitting behind a desk in a well lit,
clean, and nicely furnished lobby.
Inside the Hostel wasn’t sketchy at all.
Appearances can be deceiving here in Madrid .
The show
was similar to the past few nights.
Small club, small but really enthusiastic crowd, and genuinely great
people... I continued to feel worse and
worse though. My stomach hurt from all
the shit I ate, my chest was starting to become congested, sinus pressure,
headache, and oh yeah my eye starts hurting.
Needless to say, after the show I made the trek back to tranny hooker
alley and went to bed early.
When I
work up I knew for a fact I was sick.
All the symptoms of the prior night were compounded and there is no
denying that I have an eye infection. Awesome.
Today is gonna rule.
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