Firehouse Easter Surprises

It's Easter, and I'm setting up for our regular Sunday show at The Firehouse, and praying that the gig's not cancelled due to the TRULY ominous clouds that are gathering. The Blue Cruiser is already scheduled for a trip to the vet for that grinding, scraping sound that accompanies any pressure on the brakes. I've put it off for too long, trying to save money to get it done, and this show will help finance a brake pad or two.

I know that God answers all prayers, even if sometimes the answer is "No." When the rain came, I simply accepted the verdict as One Of Those Times, and huddled under the tin roof, wondering what lessons I still have to learn as a Poor Man, and thanking Him for stranding me in a place that sells beer.

Now, to my shock and horror, I find that the answer is "HELL no!" (Honestly, I didn't even know that God used that kind of language.) Hail the size of school buses begins to pound the shed. (OK, tennis balls. It just sounded like school buses under the tin.) The bartender is a blown light bulb away from a full-on case of the Screaming Freakies, the customers all look like extras on the Titanic, and I'm starting to SINCERELY regret the awful joke I told last Friday in San Angelo. (Seriously, it was worse than the one that started this paragraph.)

I decided to leave my sound system at the bar, and during a lull in the Iceteroid Shower I slog my guitar through the rain, only to discover that my windshield had taken one in the ol' safety glass. I only carry liability insurance, so unless the hailstone can make the case that I'm at fault for telling that joke, nobody's getting a check out of this deal. My Good Neighbors at State Farm would just shake their heads in sympathy, and wish I would get the hell off their porch.

As I drive home through the storm (wishing mightily that it was the passenger side windshield wiper that was mangled instead of the one I needed), I learned about all the tornadoes that were in the area, but not sweeping me off to Kansas. I thought about how badly we needed the rain to contain the fires that had been raging all around us in recent weeks. I gave thanks again for the abundance of gigs that God had blessed me with that made these repairs merely inconvenient (rather than catastrophic, which they would have been two months ago).

Then, while peeling off my wet clothes, I discover that Tommy had paid me in advance for the Firehouse show (it was out of the ordinary, and I had forgotten it in the excitement). Since I was in possession of money that I hadn't earned, I called him to let him know that I'd bring it back when I went back to pick up my gear. He said, "Don't worry about it. We'll figure something out." When I saw him today, he said, "I've got to pay you something for showing up. Give me $___ and keep the rest. It'll help you with the windshield."

I had set up, and played for a while, so a "Cancellation Gratuity" may have been in order, but the amount of money that he ended up leaving me with went 'way past that, and into the range of Generosity above and beyond the Call Of Duty.

At the risk of turning a heartwarming, feel-good Lifetime Movie story into Crass Commercialism, I'd like to ask the Abilene Live Music crowd to stop by some time, and drink a toast to Treating People Right. Thanks for the windshield, Tommy.