Spike and Mike part 4; Chicago

After a few weeks living in a bus with Dan, traveling from LA to Nashville and then to Riverside (southern California, not far from LA) I was ready for more Spike and Mike. During the trip we ran into Christine in New Mexico. That relationship was no more. She'd determined she was a lesbian and I determined I was relieved to have the inevitable closure of that relationship. Dan's bus blew up a few blocks from my brother's place in Riverside. We worked a couple of days there, as the show was playing on campus and then we did a couple of days in SD. SD was considered home base and so nobody would have a room rented for them there. Dan and I stayed at a youth hostel and we were joined by our old pal Darcy (remember? Six foot tall gorgeous red head. Sweet as could be.) She'd managed to land herself a job with Spike and Mike and I began to wonder if all of Sacramento would eventually be touring around with the fest. I hoped so.

I was a bit pissed that Darcy would take an obnoxious Spaniard into the room we were sharing and lock the door with us on the wrong side of it and most likely do things with him she was not doing with me. It's the not doing with me part that bothered me the most.

Fact is, I was increasingly unhappy in general. San Diego is an amazing place and we found distraction easy enough, but those still moment were filled with existential angst. The meaninglessness of my existence was weighing down on me, or maybe it was just Darcy not wanting to make out, but I was pretty sure it was the meaningless of my existence. Everything I did felt increasingly pointless and the thought of decades more of the same was a thought I could hardly bear. Dan was unsympathetic. He'd come to terms with meaninglessness long ago.

There was much drinking of tequila, and then we were off to Chicago.

We loaded up our backpacks and flew into tht windy city where we hooked up with Mike Sharp (from the S.F. show, not Mike of Spike and Mike) and Mike's friend Mike (also not Mike of Spike and Mike.) The Mikes were twice as macho together as they were alone and that's pretty macho. But as in S.F. Mike did his thing and didn't mind us doing ours, so long as we did it without a car. The two Mike's apparently needed two cars.

Our one room apartment was amazing. It was tiny but it had a small kitchen counter with a stove, sink and a little fridge against one wall. There were two day beds and a table. It was in a historic old building and we of course found the roof right away. The view of Chicago from up top was spellbinding.

With no wheels at my disposal I walked a-lot and it was freezing. Coming from San Diego I'd neglected to pack a coat. I found a great corduroy blazer in a thrift shop and I loved it. I was out handing out flyers to drunk college boys that night in my lovely new coat and several of them each handed me a dollar. When a fifth person offered me a buck I asked why people were giving me money.
"Aren't you out here asking for money?"
"No. I'm here promoting for a film festival."
"Oh! Well that can't pay much."
"Dude, they rent me an apartment, a car, fly me all over the country and I make money o'plenty."
This guy who'd intended to be generous then turned angry. "Yeah? Then why the hell are you wearing that stupid coat!"
He left his dollar and moved on. I was handed three more dollar bills that day and did not protest. Wanting to be true to the lifestyle I'd found myself in, I spent the money on fortified wine.

Chicago was an uphill climb in every way. Advanced ticket sales were not giving us any indication that the shows would be well attended. We worked harder than I'd ever worked at promoting. We covered every inch of that town, well, every inch that wasn't a frightening neighborhood where white boys in rental cars stood out like Klansmen at a NAACP meeting.

I was determined to help Dan out with meeting nice girls who might be interested in kissing him. Maybe the guys were right. Maybe I was a player. I was feeling guilty about stringing Nora along and so I figured I might as well use my powers for good. Dan and I hung out at the Art Institute of Chicago, a great place to promote and a great place to meet artsy girls. Dan had it all planned out. He'd ask the girls to go to the Magritte show currently busy-ing up the walls of the Art Institute Museum. The Museum was impressive and we spent as many of our dinner breaks exploring it as possible.

Dan had to go to the dentists and I went with him. His mouth was hurting so I did most of the talking. The staff assumed that Dan had "special needs" and that I was his professional assistant. I was invited to be in the room as the extracted a couple of his teeth. The doctor was a fun loving guy and invited me to lean in get a better view during the operation. After the first tooth I asked him if I could do the second, now that I saw how it was done. He made like he was handing me the scalpel and I'm still not sure he was joking as I put my hands to my side in the universal gesture for "Nope!"

The ride from the dentist back to the museum was great. Dan couldn't talk and I decided I wouldn't either. This made Mike and Mike much easier to deal with. They'd talk their shit, but with no response they'd get bored and we'd ride in silence, with the unfortunate exception of the awful music they played. They dropped us off at the Museum and we sat on the steps for a minute before getting down to business. Dan scribbled a note that suggested not talking and using notes would allow him to talk to girls without his shyness getting in the way. I agreed and I suggested that it was endearing. I noticed an attractive girl watching us communicating with Dan writing notes and me talking back to him. Dan gave her a grin and she returned with the kind of bashful smile that screams "Come talk to me." Dan looked at me with joy dancing in his eyes. He wrote me a note that said "Wow, she's going to walk around the museum with me!" I told him he should go talk to her, or write notes to her, and I noticed that she was now watching us intently. Dan prepared to go talk to her... by spitting a huge mouthful of blood on the steps of the museum. I could only shut my eyes. When I opened them the cute art student was no more and Dan looking pathetic and miserable. We got to work.

Dan and I were not getting along well at all, we were doing terribly at meeting people to hang out with, and we were broke for the first couple of weeks during which we worked 12 hour weekdays and even longer on the weekends. When opening weekend's attendance was not up to par the hours increased.

Dan woke me up to watch the news as the U.S.S.R. ceased to exist. We watched the tanks rolling through Moscow in silence.

We met some art students, a couple of guys and a couple of girls and had dinner with them. We invited them back to our place for our great rooftop and some beers. They weren't 21 they informed us. Well hell neither was Dan. It was fine. I was, and I was willing to buy alcohol for minors. They stared in horror. We should have given up then but we were desperate. We offered cokes and they came along reluctantly. We all sat on the roof and stared at each other through one six pack of Coke. When they said they had to go we didn't argue.

I owed Dan money but decided to buy myself a shitty bottle of brandy that didn't get me drunk instead. Dan was pissed. I was pissed.

The second weekend of shows sold out most time slots. Life would get a little easier now. Our pay checks came and they were so big we could barely lift them after all the overtime. Dan and I got along a little better.

I went out flyering with Mike's friend Mike and he kept telling me about the Jagermeister girl he'd met at the bar the night before and who would be seeing tonight. She worked for Jager, he kept saying as if this was proof that she was hot. It was obviously a great status maker to be dating a Jager Girl, much cooler than a Keystone Girl. He showed me her little poster and she was certainly cute. The poster had her name, Cheryl, printed on in such a way so as to look like it was personally autographed. The picture was taken from above at an extreme angle showing off her big brown eyes.

We caught up with Cheryl, and I realized the angle wasn't so extreme, she was. She had a big head, a normal sized torso and little legs. Any third of her was beautiful viewed alone without the next third to compare it to. I stared in amazement, much to Mike's delight but I was not thinking wow, what a stud Mike is. I was marveling that his concept of what this woman looked like came from the photos and her title more than from his own eyes. Mike was a product and victim of the modern age. But Mike was happy and she certainly seemed nice enough. And appearance mattered too much anyway. When Mike nudged me once every five minutes to ask again if I thought she was hot I agreed that she was, for sure, the hottest. Cheryl was a blast, much cooler than I thought a Jager girl would be. Mike just stared at her all night, taking brief breaks to make sure he was being seen. I talked with her and she cracked me up. She was jagering it, making crazy good money, while going to school. Mike dropped me off and he and Cheryl disappeared into the night.

We finished up and Dan and I were anxious to get out of Chicago. I had my grandparent’s 50th wedding anniversary to attend and then we'd be heading up to Seattle, which we were very excited about.

The day to take our leave came at last. We stopped to play pool and kill an hour before we had to be at the airport. The Mikes did the pool playing and I bought beers which I shared with Dan hoping he wouldn't be carded. The pool game took on to great an importance for the macho men and we left late. We got to the airport and Mike sent me to get the bags to the gate while he returned the rental car. Dan and Mike #2 took the other car. I threw Mike and I's bags on the little belt and as they went through the x-ray the screener asked if there was a gun in the bag.
"What! No, of course not."
"This looks like a gun."
"We're in show business, it's probably a water gun or something. Can you just open the bag and you'll see?"
"I can't open the bag. I need a federal agent here to open the bag." and with this she radioed for the feds. I waited patiently for a time, and then I told her I was going to find the bags owner before he got on his plane.
"You can't leave."
"I'll be right back."
I took off to the gate but could not find Mike. On my way back to security a man in a black suit began walking right next to me, pacing my steps exactly. Are you Sharp?
For some dome reason I thought he meant was I a Skin Head Against Racial Prejudice, a moronic gang that Sacramento cops would accuse you of if you had any hairdo other than a flat top.
I showed him my long again, bleach blonde hair. "Do I look like a SHARP?"
"Mike Sharp?"
"Oh, Mike. Yeah, listen I'm not but I am the guy with Mike's suitcase." and with this I was on the ground. My hands pulled behind my back, my wrists bound by metal cuffs. He helped me back to my feet and walked me back to security where lots of men and women in similar suits were now milling about excitedly. The bag was open and the gun, the real, honest to goodness, gun was lying next to it.

I was propped against a wall. I got the attention of a female agent or officer or whatever she was and told her that the bag belonged to Mike Sharp.
"Don't try to get out of this one. You'll be talking to the judge, so don't bother with us. That's a gun and you had it. You're going down." She was practically hyperventilating.
"That's fine. I'll go down, but I thought you might like to arrest him too, before he leaves the airport." I knew Mike would be able to straighten this out, and I wasn't worried about being loyal to a friend, this friend let me carry a god damned gun into an international airport. We hadn't made an agreement as co-conspirators, signed in blood.
She only continued her tirade. "Don't bother with your Mike Sharp. You had the gun! You're in a world of trouble."
She must have been playing bad cop. Another cop was overhearing her and he interrupted, sending her to help someone with something, somewhere. He took Mike's name, and went to the gate to find him. Mike was easily found and very apologetic. He'd forgotten it was in the suitcase when he sent me in as he usually declared it. I don't know if this is true but I chose to believe it.

Mike and I were taken to the airport jail. In the cell next to us were two men who had been caught making love to each other in a stolen vehicle. The cops cracked many gay jokes and I thanked god above that I was only in for attempting to hi-jack an airplane.

I would be out in an hour we were told; they just had to run my record to make sure I had no priors and no warrants. Mike would stay at least over night. I was relieved. If only my record had come back clean.
"Keith, are you a member of a gang called The Revolutionary Communist Youth Brigade?"
Oh shit!
The RCYB was a group of young communists who specialized in vandalism and parades through minority neighborhoods where they weren't necessarily welcome. I had let a bunch of them stay the night at my house after a May Day parade but I spent the whole night debating with them as I have only mild socialist leanings and a strong aversion to bloodshed. First I miss meeting Dan Quayle and now I spend the night in jail in Chicago. Damn you Big Brother. Damn you Chairman Mao.

We were taken from the airport to the main jail in a cop mini van. The corrugated metal seats just bent your knees a little and tweaked your back, not letting you actually sit, just making you clear the ceiling of the van. Roller coaster style bars held you in place. The cops drove the van at light speed and used special cop roads allowing them to cut sideways across freeways.

Miraculously we reached the main jail in one piece and we were put in our cells. They took my belt and my shoe laces. My ridiculously baggy pants didn’t' want to stay on. I pulled some string from the lining of my jacket and tied some belt loops together. Then I fashioned a pair of shoe laces. I felt very industrious. Mike sang "Sitting on the dock of a bay" over and over again. Not the whole song, just that line.

We were offered a meal of bologna sandwiches. My veganism was based on my ability to eat vegan and I'd always said I'd eat whatever I needed to eat before I'd starve. We'll I wasn't at deaths door but I was hungry, so after asking if they had a vegetarian option and listening to the laughter spread through the jail as my request was repeated, I requested a bologna sandwich. I really did intend to eat it. The two slices of wonder bread with one slice of bologna and a tablespoon of mayonnaise could not have been less appetizing. And so Mike had two bologna sandwiches.
In the morning we were let go, but we had court dates set. Mike assured me he'd take care of everything.

I had one last chance to utter a cliché that I was dying to use. We were being processed and I turned to the fellow behind me in line.
"So, what are you in for?"
"Operating a cab without a license."
"They'll put you in jail for not having a business license?"
"No. A driver's license. What are you in for?"
It hadn't occurred to me that I'd be asked this question in return.
"We sort of carried a gun into the airport, but it was all misunderstanding."

He didn't seem particularly impressed. He asked if we needed a ride back to the airport. His taxi was right outside. I doubted that he'd earned his driver's license while locked up, but we were in a hurry to catch the next flight so we accepted. Mike discovered sixty bucks in cash, a good bottle of bourbon and his Air Force Jump Pins missing from his luggage. The cops had not found anything worth taking in my bags.
I flew to San Diego where Dan met me and we got immediately on a plane to Seattle.
I'd missed my grandparent's anniversary but I had one hell of an excuse.
We climbed onto the plane, me looking like I’d spent the night in jail because I had, and Dan looking the same because that's how he looked. What a funny time to get a free bump up to first class for being frequent fliers. We ordered our free drinks. When the attendant asked Dan for ID he told her it was in his bag, the bag that she and two other attendants had with great difficulty helped Dan squeeze into the overhead bin. She opted to leave the bag where it was and pour Dan his free drink. We really like free drinks. We were nice and toasty warm by the time we landed in Seattle.
I kept a promise I'd made to Mike and kept the story to myself.

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