"Double Double [toilet] trouble"
or
"The road is a bi-ah-itch my friend"

by Joe Pisapia

Part II

Ok, The phone incident, as it turns out was sort of precursor of things to follow. This is why this story was broken into 2 parts.

We had a day off in St Louis before our show at the Pageant. Most of that day was spent with the pursuits of R&R...guitar playing in hotel rooms, extended napping and general computer geekery. Later that night we went for a dinner "family style"--Yes the whole cast and crew of Guster gathered to break bread together at a bistro which was owned by a friend of Steve, our faithful guitar tech. Believe it or not a group dinner like this is actually kind of a rarity, as everyone usually scatters on days off in an attempt to reconnect with their own privacy deprived selves. General comradere was had by all, and after the (n)th bottle of vino, the other patrons in the bistro surely had their fill of our mirth. The bill came, much to the relief of the couples dining nearby, and we all (ten of us) kicked in $45 for the eats, drinks, and gratuity.

The hotel and bus was a short walk from the restaurant and someone called a game of tennis in the back lounge. I definitely wanted in. Here's why: On previous tours there was a version of tennis on Sega, I think. To make a long story short, I sucked at it and I didn't really have the extra attention span available to play the computer as my opponent long enough to accrue the skills to play the Guster varsity team. *But*, now there was a new system, X-Box Tennis, and no one had ever played it before. Suddenly, by sudden stroke of fate and savvy consumerism, the playing field was level and I had a chance to be on the starting team, with all the Guster video game chestnuts.

Brian and I were playing against Chunk and Matt, when Donny, our driver came in and said, "you guys have absolutely no lives!" He went on, "There is a bar on the corner that has $1 pitchers and you guys are sitting here playing computer tennis." As soon as Brian and I lost...(I actually suck at this new tennis as well), we all decided to check it out--for after all what consumer in this world wouldn't resonate positively with the pitcher of beer for one humble dollar.

What Donny neglected to tell us was that there was a $4 cover at the door. Using simple economics, we now had to factor this (unexpected) fixed cost of $4 into the variable cost of $1 and figure out how to get the most value out of our cash outlay.

Fig 1.A:

In the diagram we see that X is the number of patrons and Y is the number of pitchers. Z is our value meter for the excursion. All one needs to do to understand the relative value for increasing the number of pitchers is to divide Z by X or (Z / X)= per person cost...The more Y increases, the more economic value (per person) is added, the more receptive you are to "Hey Ya" at 140 decibles, and, generally speaking, the worse you will feel in the morning.

.....Don't worry there's a good toilet fiasco story coming soon...stay with me.

Contextually, all of this savvy bargaining seems moot to the reader, what with the fact that we all willingly shelled out $45 for food and racy, borderline obnoxious conversation (I forgot to mention that the ceaser salad was garnished with fried calamari in lieu of crutons...that's $1.50 worth of fun right there.) What has to be kept in mind in the price of the evening's diversion was that there would be a relative amount of "suffering" involved in the post "Mardi Gras" celebration that we were about to step into. ( I think it was "Ash Wednesday" actually) but there were still beads to be won and the DJ would cajole the girls (much now under the influence of the $1 pitchers) , to show some "titty". Adding the "y" in "titty" makes it all seem innocent and carefree and some even fall for it in exchange for a ring of beads valuing a sum of 15 cents freshly imported from Taipei.

But when the DJ is screaming all of this into a PA system that is obviously not able to handle his yelling combined with Pink trying to sing underneath him, the "crapping- out" of the sound system provides the "actual" soundtrack to the hormone driven mayhem that is beginning to brew. This exacerbates the overall feelings of "locker room towel snapping" brought on by the fact that everyone there was simply trying to gain the same economic edge on the pitcher deal that we were, and the more you tried to move through the "girls-gone-wild" crowd the more the local guys wanted to beat you up. The words "excuse me" has a little less of an impact whilst "titties" are flying on the dance floor and if you happen to block the vantage point of a fella enthralled in the uproar, you might as well have tried to ride a bear cub in full view of its maternal caregiver. Evenings like these make you feel the "actual" gravity of being in your 30's.

Inclinations and realizations like these (and the natural feelings of humility that they conjure up) provide a sturdy base for the "psychological" attributes of a hangover in the making....and returning briefly to fig 1.A , we did get our money's worth of the $1 pitchers, thus setting the perfect environment for the physical side of the morning malaise as well.

I decided that evening to crash in the bus as I was sharing a room with Adam and he was surely sound asleep by the time of the capitulation of our debaucherous evening. The hotel was fancy, a 4 or 5 star situation, complete with washers and dryers in the actual suites themselves, so not many of us opted to stay in our bunks on the bus. Brian and I did, however as we were on the same schedule.

The morning came on quickly as I knew it inevitably would. On this morning we were to play at the local radio station at noon. On days where we have to be somewhere at a certain time, I like to give myself a few free hours in the morning to have coffee and journal of do emails or whatever. I set my trusty phone alarm (yes, even the tertiary features still work!!) for 9:45. I figured that would give me ample time to rebirth and rebuild myself from the evenings pull, a fortification that I knew the nearby Starbucks would provide, and I would be in good spirits to visit with the local jocks.

Like most normal waking homo- sapiens, the first thing I do upon getting out of bed is pee. The only difference being that on most days I pee in a toilet that is surrounded by a "house on wheels", whereas most people's toilets have never tarried through the depths of the Dakotas by starry night or over the Continental Divide on a sunny summer day.

Like most normal homo-sapiens of the modern day, I simply expect that a toilet is going to function all the time, a humble tireless servant to the inevitable exhaustion of the by-products of eating and drinking. So that's just what happened. I left my pee and began to vacate the closet-like environs of our moving lav feeling no particular need to linger. I went to the bunk area to retrieve my hat and computer bag when upon looking to the front of the bus I saw what I hoped was at best a mirage inspired by my hangover. (see fig 1.A)

No such luck...this was a bonifide overflowing toilet. --Maybe one of the last things one would want to deal with on a morning such as this one. It seems that the valve that cuts the water off that gathers as a splash buffer in the bottom of the traveling commode had decided suddenly not to work. Was it not aware that I had already been tested and tried in this particular arena? Was it somehow working in a bigger universal consipiracy to teach me respect an awe for this paramount collision of culture? Man vs. toilet vs. portable phone vs. motor vehicle vs. hangover. I began to feel a little like Howard Dean, as we both were currently sharing a parallel appreciation and insight into the (new?) testament book of Job. But I can guarantee as I know that Job was in the OLD testament, that he never had to clean an overflowed toilet in a bus as they didn't have them until the NEW testament.

Luckily, I knew where the main water cut-off switch was and I flipped it, not before a great lake had grown in the middle section of the bus. At first it simply didn't make sense to me. Where was all this water coming from??!!! After all, out of courtesy to my fellow travelers I tend to treat the water coming from the sinks like it is a canteen in the desert-- to be rationed and savored--almost as if by some miracle of engineering we can enjoy the flowing water (hot and cold), but with a definite amount of respect and reverence. (Note: Despite the attempts of detailing and tinting of windows and tv's you are still primarily "camping -out". ) But as it turns out if you just let the water tank pour onto the floor of the bus there is actually a supply of water that is bountifully abundant and almost seems never-ending.

I called Pasty in a panic but then realized that this was indeed my personal struggle and lot in life (or at least on this tour) and mine alone. I used 3 rolls of paper towels to soak up the majority of the water and later we had a carpet cleaning service come to professionally take care of the remaining details.

I have, in and through my trials, honestly repented for any lack of respect that I may have shown to the Porcelain God and its role in our evolving world, and I seek delivery and forgiveness for these sins conscious or unconscious pertaining thereto. Amen