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I've never felt so grown up in all my 27 years as I did registering at the front desk of the Royal Oaks Hotel last night. We have a band policy of couch surfing, camping, rooftop poaching, etc. In other words, we never pay for
hotel rooms. Last night, however, exhausted after a long day of trying hard to get on the road and the previous week of homecoming shows, I made the decision to find the seediest hotel and sleep in it. Our choice was the Royal Oak Hotel with Tail Gaterz strip joint adjoining. A single room for $53. Well the problem with a single room is that there are four of us, but if I was going to pay for a hotel room, I certainly wasn't going to pay for four of us to stay in it. The other problem is that we are conspicuous. Within 4 hours of driving in Alberta I was asked 3 times whether we were hippies or tree planters. Trying to sneak three unkempt hippy-looking band mates into a hotel with quite possibly no other occupants, proved an exciting night in Whitecourt. We managed by finding back doors and fire escapes, flirting with the front desk girl, and pure cat-like agility. No, we're not hippies or tree planters, we're just smooth talkers and cheap like borscht. And poverty, folks, has a way of turning one into a sneaky criminal.
Very little excitement happened as we continued through Alberta on our way to Olds for the next show, that is until we reached Rocky Mountain House. Now, I've always thought Rocky Mountain House to be quite beautifully located and we pushed through our coffee cravings until we reached the town. We quickly found a cute little coffee shop and were excited to have some coffee to mix with our Baileys. Little did I know that in Rocky Mountain House, and at Novel Ideas Coffee Shop specifically, they like to assault their customers. Imagine my surprise at being everything but physically attacked by the menopausal, obviously unhappy, and sexually unsatisfied owner of the coffee shop all for ordering an Americano. Folks if you ever stop for a coffee in Rocky Mountain House, please don't order an Americano, it may be the last thing you ever do. I barely made it out alive. I left the shop quite shaken up, but with resolve to show that lady that I wouldn't stoop to her level, I wouldn't yell and threaten, I would show my social graces and educated upbringing and in a witty and intelligent fashion I would pay her back for her uncalled for behaviour. So, I walked back into her coffee shop, looked her in the eye and in front of all who cared to watch I raised my coffee mug high and poured it out onto the floor. “Oops, I tripped”, I said as I turned to walk away. However, walking was not an option. Oh no. The bitch was on me. She screamed like a rabid dog was chewing off her leg and she put on a chase, but I was faster and the green mini van was loaded and waiting, Tyler was at the wheel of my get away car. “Fuck You Rocky Mountain House!” was all I had to say as we pushed the mini van until we almost reached the speed limit on the way out of town, but don't think I didn't hear, and perhaps consider, the advice of one confused coffee shop patron when she called after me, “You need a therapist!” Well, lady, don't we all, and that Americano tasted like shit anyway.
Until next time,
Peace, Love, Moonshine and a touch of childish revenge,