I rang in the New Year at Blueberry Hill, finding humour in the strangest places. My perch was at the door to the Duck Room, the basement of B’berry Hill, where bands play. I manned the merchandise table, hence becoming the “merch girl” for the night.

The deal was $35 for Tripstar, Javier Mendoza Band, and all you could drink. The deal for me was that I got to play “salesperson,” feel all important and cool, and drink for free. Ha.

What else am I going to do while Mike’s out of town?

The night started out with a bang. I had procured one of the ten stools available to the general population so I could sit during my six-hour stint. (The tickets stated “limited seating” - which I had found to be very humourous, as this was my zillionth show at the Duck Room and knew how very “limited” it was!) Julie, JMB’s promotions director, graciously watched the table as I ran to the bar. As I was headed back and we traded places, I watched some blonde-haired crinkled-faced old hag grab my stool from behind the table, throw my coat on the floor, and start to walk away.

“Excuse me, honey,” I said as I made a grab for the stool. “Get your own seat.”

“I paid $35 for a seat, and this is mine,” said the hag snottily, looking at me as if I were merely “staff.” (*wink*)

One good yank and she was Shit Out of Luck. “Like I said, honey, get your own seat.”

The show was sold out and the people poured into the basement in a constant stream for nearly an hour. I sold a few CDs, but nothing to write home about. Some people chatted for a minute as they walked through, but I really didn’t know anyone who came in. Not wanting to look bored I sat, cool as shit, dressed to the nines in knee-boots and a mini skirt, smoking and enjoying myself.

Tripstar, the opening act, sounded like a cross between Pink Floyd (think Dark Side of the Moon) and … I don’t even know. They sounded like a great opening act for a nap. The crowd wasn’t terribly impressed, and I wasn’t terribly interested, which made the next hour or so go by rather slow as well.

I’m zoning, staring off into space with one eye on the table, when suddenly I’m grabbed from behind in a hug. It’s Javi! Ack! Talk about cardiac arrest! Big thank you from him, and I told him to kick some ass. He nodded and walked back to the backstage door huddled in his coat. He’s actually becoming somewhat of a celebrity in St. Louis now.

Finally the band took the stage. That’s when it all got funny.

Prior to midnight, I enjoyed the music and kept stealing glances at their sound guy, whose babies I would readily have, no questions asked. However, just after midnight, it became apparent that most of the revelers were drunk off their asses. They provided the entertainment. I met the music director (?) of the local radio station who sponsored the show. She was decidedly soused, and cracked me up. I met several (!) drunken gentlemen, many of whom tried to bargain with me for CDs, then asked to sleep with me. (Sadly, yes, it was in that order.) The fun part was telling them to fuck off and having them resignedly say “okay” and walk away.

Drunk people are very funny.

But the highlight of my night was this:

The lead singer of Tripstar was a short little guy who thought rather highly of himself. He wore a maroon crushed velvet suit, spiky black hair, green eyeshadow and black chipped fingernail polish. *rolling eyes* I stood talking to his guitar player for a while, and as we chatted we watched the lead singer stand about 10 feet from the merch table with an obviously-drunk girl draped all over him.

We laughed. “Must be Lead Singer Syndrome,” I commented. He told me that the worst part about lead singers is that they have to be babysat. I wholeheartedly agreed. Suddenly the two lovebirds started walking towards the table. Actually, he walked and she kind of hung on. They are nuzzling each other, and she makes a grab for the pen on the table (finally picking it up on the third try). Guitar Player and I are openly snickering, and Lead Singer lifts the hand from Drunk Girl’s back and flicks us off. This causes Guitar Player and I to burst into gales of laughter.

Fortunately, Drunk Girl didn’t really notice, as she had to save all of her concentration for getting her phone number - in the right order - all over Lead Singer’s forearm. Lead Singer was making faces down at her the whole time. What a comedy! Of course, when she giggled and looked back up at him, he was all doe-eyed innocence. I thought I would split a gut.

After she left, Lead Singer nuzzled another bird, who walked away shortly. I looked at him. “Good night, eh?” He smiled. Oh yeah, he says. I’ll bet, I say. “What’s your name?” he asks. I tell him. “Well, Michelle, I’ll bet there’s still some room on my elbow…” We both burst out laughing.

Finally a New Year’s I’ll enjoy remembering,

michelle