In December I played a Christmas gig with The Elixxxirs. This was going to be a fun night for me — I planned to start by hoisting a beer at noon with a hundred Santas or so, then arrive late and drunk at the bar where someone else would be providing a drum set which I would play unevenly. Then, my last responsibilities dispensed with, I would continue to drink until I was two beers past finished and could go home and sleep it off.
The universe conspired to make sure that didn’t happen. I couldn’t attend Santacon, the other band’s drum kit wasn’t available, and finally I was elected Designated Driver for the band. So I spent much of the evening driving, schlepping gear, and pretending not to hear my guitarist’s drunk and abrasive solutions to the world’s problems as we reeled across the city at 3am. (That’s you, Kevin.) There’s nothing quite like being sober in the company of drunks, especially when you’d much rather join them.
Part of this 3am jaunt across town involved crossing the Georgia Viaduct, which is a favourite spot for roadchecks. Sure enough, we were directed to the side lane by a row of uniformed police officers.
This got me really excited because a) I was totally sober, and b) I drive a right-hand drive Japanese import van. In what’s normally the driver’s seat sat Chris, the bass player, who was definitely not sober. I dearly hoped that, for just a second, they would think he was driving.
Sadly, they didn’t. But I don’t ever want to miss that opportunity again, so I installed a fake steering wheel on the dashboard:
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