I’m sitting in the jump seat of the bus, admiring as the soapy water cascades down the giant windows, and enjoying that deep, rumbling sound of a pressure hose against the exterior body, and contemplating if I should go with a coffee, soda or Vitamin Water to ease the hang over. Let me tell you about the events leading to this, the tour bus getting washed.
We were having a drink on the bus, after playing Rock on the Range music festival. We were all done working, Guns N Roses was the headliner, so we decided to go catch the show. We got to the stage, and I was standing next to Dan, one of the members of Nothing More, which is one of my new favorite bands, and the members are some of my new favorite people. We listened to two songs, and then both looked at each other and were like, why are we watching Guns N Roses again? Good conversation over a mug of whiskey (because mugs are the only glassware we have on the bus) sounds much better than listening to obnoxious, no longer relevant, shit music. So Dan and I turned right around and got down on some Jack Daniel’s, which we both agree is the worst call whiskey, but when it’s free, you don’t complain.
Good times rolled on, and Joe and I (one of the other crew members) hopped a barbed-wire fence into a salt barn. I love Joe. He’s been beaten and worn, but he has the heart of a lion. He’s always up for an adventure, and we all know that I’m always up for a potentially hazardous excursion, so you’ll often find him and I doing something thrilling and mildly illegal together. Last night’s Cait and Joe adventure was investigating what was inside this huge barn-like structure that was just outside of our bus. We used his denim jacket to blanket the barbed-wire (thank you Levi’s for still making quality denim that will withstand even barbed-wire) and made our way into the dark structure. Inside was slightly eerie, and we discovered mounds of what we think was salt. I took it in, because that will probably be the only time in my life that I will have mountains of salt towering above me. It was oddly beautiful.
Back on the bus, and we are joined by Maus, the bass player of Lacuna Coil, the band I’m working for right now. I love Maus too. He’s a party. The three of us are probably the biggest “drinkers” on the bus, (in our defense, the other’s don’t drink much at all) so when you put the three of us together with no chaperons… I haven’t decided yet if this is a brilliant idea or vastly unwise.
We go on to be terrible people, and turn people watching into a sport. Who can spot the strangest looking girl (which is everyone at a music festival) and then debate on whether or not they would still fuck them. I would agree or disagree, pointing out these poor girls’ attributes or flaws. Hashtag going to hell. A couple more birthday shots later (it was Joe’s birthday) and pants start dropping. Next thing, threesome. Just kidding. That wouldn’t be rock and roll. It’s rock and roll for the boys to climb up onto the counter while you’re in the bathroom, pull down their pants, and tuck their dick and balls so that when you walk out, you’re greeted with the horrendous sight of full ass, and gross, manipulated genitals inches from your face. Then I’m pretty sure a lot of windmilling while literally galloping up and down the front lounge of the bus took place. Last night I learned what windmilling is. If you’re unfamiliar with the term, I would tell you to look it up yourself, but since the Urban Dictionary has such a hilarious definition, I will take pleasure in relaying the meaning to you.
windmilling- the act of spinning one’s penis around in the fashion of a windmill, usually with the intent of hitting someone in the face. Sometimes done while urinating.
“Mr. Bean was windmilling the school children.”
So I’m eating oreo’s, trying not to get assaulted while watching Maus and Joe windmill up and down the bus. I will say, I was laughing my ass off because then a name calling game between the three of us seemed to develop, which was basically, who could come up with the grossest insult. “Discharge licking, dirty foreskin face” I’m sure was thrown out there at one point. We’re yelling this out while chasing each other, climbing on things in the bus… if you were to see a video of us, with no audio playing, I’m positive we would look like a bunch of cavemen during mating season. And this is tour life. Way less sex and glamor than people think, and much more of…. this. Whatever you’d like to call it.
Then Trent, our bus driver, wakes up, and the poor guy is immediately greeted with penises in his face, and Maus biting his nipple. Of course urine needs to become part of this story. Trent is about to start driving, and Maus sticks his dick out of the window and pees all over the outside of the bus. Let me point out, that we DO have a toilet on the bus.
And here we are. These were the events leading to why we’re now at a truck wash, getting Maus urine cleaned off the Jefferson (the name of our bus), and Maus has now risen from the grave, and is currently puking in the bathroom. Fuck yes.