I think it was Wednesday of the following week that I decided to do something odd and take the service stairs down to the lobby. Usually, I just turn right out of my door and hop the elevator. but today, I thought the 'exercise' would do me good.
Obviously, I was not alone in my thinking. About halfway down, I was met by Mike coming up the stairs. He was decked out in a jogging suit and had on a neck brace.
I didn't ask. I just smiled as we passed each other in the stairwell.
Looking back in retrospect, don't know exactly what came next. Somewhere into the third week, all hell broke loose.
Once again, potatoes were flying into the next county. It was impossible to match volumes with Mike. It was like he was on a mission to see how loud he could crank up his amp. Notes from the bar poured unto the stage. I was afraid we were going to get fired.
Knowing how guitarists hate to be asked to turn down, I gently offered, "Mike, I think we all need to come down a little." That's it! I will blame everyone equally!
Mike dug in his heels. He let his axe go slack around his shoulders and stood there while the band played on without him.
"what the...." I was thinking in a flash.
I turned around and Mike had grabbed a note scrawled on a napkin and upon tearing it into pieces, had shoved gobs into his ears. Then he gazed at me defiantly.
During the break, I was simmering. About ready to boil over, I questioned him.
"why did you do that?"
"I am partially deaf, and you were too loud!" came the response.
"Huh?"
Later that night we had the requisite band meeting sans Mike. We figured he was adding another beer to the collection. We all voted that Mike needed to go back home or wherever he was from.
A meeting was called the next morning on our only day off. Upon telling Mike it wasn't working out, he started pacing and gnashing his teeth in anger.
I thought the beer bottles were going to explode at any time. I scanned the room just in case.
Mike then stormed out of his own room, leaving us with St. Pauli Girl looking forlornly atop his television set.
I was on the phone again to the contact agency. "Please send us another guitarist as soon as possible. yes, today would be good"
In my sanctuary, I hunkered down on the bed and stared at the Turkey. Two more weeks here and then on to another town and more adventures. Another new player was on the way. Mike was leaving that evening.
I awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming in through a crack in the blackout curtains. A small envelope was slide under my door.
Mike had written me his Swan Song. I had offered him a customary two week notice, but he had slipped out in the middle of the night in a fit of anger.
I read the letter slowly and not once but twice. Some of his ramblings even made some sense. Something about having worked as a bus driver, a janitor, a therapist (?), a car wash attendant and a musician finally.
Even though the thoughts seemed disjointed, I pondered the last and final line.
"You saw as much of me as the Titanic saw of the iceberg that sunk it!"
St. Pauli girl was going home.
