LUNKHEADED

Part 7

I had been trying to get a show in Milwaukee for some time and finally a kid who did a zine up there got us a show at the Unicorn, a local Mexican restaurant/dive bar. It was run by this guy named Gus, who looked like one of Tony Montana’s more-poorly-dressed henchmen. He was little but ripped as hell, with a really sketchy disposition. He was edgy and jumpy. And mean.

The night before the show a bunch of us had dropped acid and had a party at the house of a friend of ours (who happened to be out of town with her parents), and ended being up all night. When we got to the club, it was about 95 degrees in the shade and Gus was pissed off about something (which might have been that despite a 24 hour head start we still couldn’t make it to the show on time) and was hollering at us as we rolled iinto the parking lot.

The guys started to unload the stuff and me and Pete went to see what was up. Gus sat on his stool, smoking and eyeing us suspiciously.

“You’re late.” he said.

“Yeah, sorry, Gus we had car trouble…” I said, of course the only car trouble we’d had was about fifty terrifying near-misses on the tollway.

“You can’tplay.” He said and turned to go inside.

“Hey, hey, hey. Chill out, man, wer’e just late can’t we switch with somebody?” I pleaded.

One of the guys from RHINELANDER intervened and Gus relented. It turned out Gus was either busting our balls, or plain-old crazy because when we went in, the show was nowhere near ready to begin. We loaded the shit in down the rickety stairs in the pitch black, even the sun was scared to come past Gus into the Unicorn.

I hung out in the parking lot, still wired from the speedy acid, and drank coffee and rode my skateboard. A couple guys came up and we all wandered off together in search of more coffee. They were all from Milwaukee and said they knew where to go.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, is open in Milwaukee on a Sunday. We walked fifteen blocks until we reached an open convenience store. I was dripping sweat and had the haggard oiliniess of a dude who’d been up all night tripping. I spilled a little coffee as I studied my face in the side of the stainless steel coffeemaker.

When we got back to the Unicorn, all of our equally tweaked-looking friends were standing around. Pete came up and said they told him no guest list. None at all, I asked. None at all, he answered. Weak.

I went inside and found Gus at the bar. He said we didn’t get anyone in. We had no choice. Well then, I told him, we’re not gonna play. I have a terrible habit of getting up on my high horse, and generally getting knocked back off of it.

I started up the stairs to tell the fellas when I heard this bellow from behind me. Gus was charging across the room towards me and I hightailed it up the stairs.

“Fuck you!” He screamed, “Fuck YOU and your SHITTY BAND!”

“Up yours, you fucking crook!” I yelled down, and that really set him off. He came running up the stairs at me and I thought for sure I was dead. This guy was like, six inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter than me, and absolutely still about to whip my big mouthed ass. He stopped abruptly on the last step. I hadn’t taken another step back when he charged me, and there was this weird moment of standoff. I figured if I’m gonna get clobbered, might as well take it like a man. We stared each other in the eye for a minute that seemed like a year. Then he put his hand forward, and I smiled and shook it. We’d come to an unspoken understanding.

We ended up playing the show and things ended up going off. During the last song a bunch of people (alas, all male) climbed on stage and got naked with us (Ed. Note: Led by a young Paulie Think). I thought for sure Gus was gonna come storming through the crown, blinded by homoerotic rage, but I saw him standing at the back by the sound booth with a bottle of Bud and a bemused smile on his face. Eventually the sound guy did pull the plug, but by then we were out of songs and out of gas, and immediately everyone poured out the door and collapsed in the cool Milwaukee evening. The sight of a parking lot full of heaving, soaked punks lying on the asphalt in various states of undress was cool, it looked llke Apocalypse Now. That’s what punk rock is all about.

We ended up hanging out in the parking lot with our new friends for several hours. One of them was this dude named Mike who had been on the earlier coffee death march, and had started up his own Skateboard company he called Beer City. I was uimpressed, I’d never met a dude who had his own skateboard company before. He showed me his board, saying it was one of his. We all rolled around doing wallies and having powerslide contests and enjoying the unexplainable feeling of rolling on a skateboard. The sky looked so cool that night, electric blue behind dark, high clouds. Perfect, like the rest of the evening.