Harrisburg, PA – “Payback is a Bitch” – October 9, 2000
We picked back up with the band outside Harrisburg, PA. The boys had to drive through the weekend from down south to link back up with us. Soucy and I had traveled light when we flew to the PA show with only our instruments and the clothes on our back (give or take an extra pair of undies). I was looking forward to being reunited with my extra-large suitcase filled with the freshly washed outfits I’d recently laundered in a coin op back in Annapolis. It was a hot day and I was desperate to ditch my new leather Harley jacket and change out of stage cloths, so I was shocked and dismayed with what I found when I opened the back of Moby.
Out of the steaming trunk came the noisome chemical scent of fruit. It was so strong, I instantly got a headache and I closed my watering eyes to curb the assault on my senses as I felt around for my jumbo black bag.
“Pew!” I shouted up to the boys in the front “What happened back here while we were gone?!?! Did you lose a battle with a porta-potty or something?” I heard a snicker as I unzipped and flipped open the main compartment of my suitcase where I was accosted by the toxic fragrance of not one, not two but twenty Little Tree air fresheners scattered throughout my clothes in every scent and every color.
“Oh, Good LORD!!!” I screamed as the rank fragrance defiled my face.
“What in the —. Who the HELL —? How did this —? WHAT?!?!” I yelled.
Picking one of the car air fresheners out of my bag, I studied it like an ancient artifact. The stiff pineapple yellow tree had dyed its acrid silhouette into my favorite white sweater on which it had sat for the last 48 hours, sweltering in the hot trunk. Suddenly I heard the van erupt with laughter and four heads appeared at my side with huge naughty smiles. I dropped the yellow tree back in the bag.
SOUCY! That tolerant, patient band-brother of mine had bided his time, letting me think he was a picture of piousness, putting up with my relentless tickle attacks, spit ball fights and imitation designer cologne ambushes only to counterattack with the entire catalogue of Little Tree offerings. Bravo Soucy. I was both deeply impressed and totally dismayed.
“Payback’s a bitch,” yelled Chris as I chased him through the parking lot.
Sally,
It’s hard to imagine anything worse than having your clothes infused with the smell of those wretched air fresheners! Yikes! I hope you were able to wash out the smell, but what a pain!!!
-Cindy
I think they still smell of those nasty pines!