In a Memphis hotel room, in the middle o' the night. I call a bunch of people in California, and tell them that I'm in a Memphis hotel room. An hour later, I'm watching Conan O'Brien, and something he says makes me realize that it's April Fools Day, the first. Oh, great ... nobody believes me. But I AM in a Memphis hotel room!
My sister is with me. She's possibly my best friend. She rocks. She rules. She snores. We talk about everything under the sun (before she starts to snore). We discuss Love, Death, and Taxes. (A friend of mine says that doing taxes is like getting a tattoo - one painful tiny step at a time! Heh.) My sis and I comtemplate going to Graceland. Of course we gotta go to Graceland! I mean, every musician has to go to Graceland at some point in his or her career/life. Right?!
We order pizza and pop. No wait, you don't say "pop" in the south. EVERYTHING is a "Coke." Even a Dr. Pepper and a Sprite is called a "Coke." Even root beer, even Mountain Dew, it's all a "Coke." Curious. Thanks, I guess, to Atlanta, Georgia: the Headquarters of Coca-Cola Enterprises (for the South and Worldwide) and eveything sweet and Evil. Everything's a Coke down here. But it occurs to me that many people in the world would trade places, are hungry and would LOVE to have a pizza in a nice hotel room. Then again, many people would like to be in a hotel room with my sister ... she's a babe. When she dumps her hubby, I'll letchya all know. Have a Coke and a smile. Burp.
When I checked in, I eyed the guy up and down, wondering which phony name to give him. He was from India, and I figured he wouldn't know who Tom Petty was. So I checked in as Tom Petty. Heh. I forgot all about it, until he rang in the morning saying, "Good morning, Mr. Petty. Check out is in half an hour ..."
Me, "Right." Groan, grumble, grumble. Gotta get up and make some rock 'n' roll!!!!!
Kinda rough neighborhood. We woke up in the morning, and went to the Waffle House. Now, if any of you have been in the South, you know what the Waffle House is. And if you haven't, well ... you're missing out ... on the most greatest, greasiest vittles EVER! And the waitress was distant, perplexed, and I wondered if she was giving us the cold shoulder (only white folks in the place), but later I got her attention, and asked what was going on, and she said, "Oh, I'm going through a divorce and I'm moving out, so sorry if I'm distracted. Nothing personal. (I'd asked her three times for a water, and DID think she was ignoring us.) Sorry I forgot your water! I'm thinking about my 9 year old son. That's all I can think about ..." Which led us into a whole discussion, this waitress and my sister (they connected) and I, about how men are pigs and nobody stays together, and furthermore, the middle class is eroding from this country, and financial concerns are the biggest cause of break-ups. "Amen," we agreed.
Then I was going to the bathroom, and this HUGE guy was sorta standing in my way. Wouldn't budge. He was big. And I thought, "He's seen some shit." But I couldn't figure out why he wouldn't budge. Was I a threat to him?? Then we passed each other, he sat down, and I saw something. He had a HUGE scar, from a knife fight, most likely. It went from the top of his cheek, a long-ass way, all the way down to his chin. Must've been REALLY big, wide open, down the side of his face, a big open face slab of meat, bleeding around his head and all over his body. I got a chill. Yikes. And he looked like he could kick ANYBODY's ass. Yeah, he was bad. And when they cut you like that, it must be a warning, you know? Those were some mean motherfuckers, or maybe he killed the guy who tried to do it. I wondered what happened to the other guy. Was he dead??
"Oh. That's why he didn't budge," I said to myself.
-Todd