When You Gotta Go
It was May 18, 2002. My band From. was playing at our normal (and only all ages) haunt, Sacred Grounds in San Pedro, California. I have a few stories about this place for a later date… Anyway, at that time, we were able to fill that coffee shop / music venue on the regular and this night was no exception, as our not so traditional surf rock meets progressive rock was just weird enough to appeal to punks, hipsters, weirdos and mom and dad.
This particular night I was not feeling great. In fact, that whole week I wasn’t feeling great. The stomach bubbles I had were not from nervousness, let’s just say that. Half way through the set, the pain became unbearable. I thought ahead about the next tune and it just so happened to have a guitar and bass break in it. When that part hit, I signaled to the band, mouthed “KEEP GOING!” and I jumped off the stage and beelined to the restroom to handle business.
Now, keep in mind there wasn’t a green room, or band only bathroom. I had to use the public bathroom that was just to the right of the stage where dozens of kids who came to see us were standing and watching. There was no hiding anything, even the flushing sounds, in which I had tallied up a few. I had never been so embarrassed or felt so awkward when I finished up, tail between my legs, as the odor wafted from the dinky bathroom into the crowd. But as scary as that was, the show had to go on, so adrenaline kicked in and I hopped back on stage and finished the set. In front of, I dunno, 100 or so kids, I made it clear I had wrecked that bathroom. In fact, I was told by many that my mother (who was in attendance that night) had gone around telling people that I had diarrhea from food poisoning.
Not sure if this photo was taken before or after the incident…
She was right. That week I had eaten bad sushi on a lunch break. This was, at the time, the worst food poisoning I ever had. Just two days before, I went to see Star Wars: Attack of The Clones opening night and I missed about 25 minutes of the movie for the same aforementioned reason. If you have seen the film, you know I didn’t miss much, but the point was I had it bad. However, when show night came, I was not about to cancel and to this day, if I ever feel less than great come show day, I think about this night and tell myself it could be worse. Much worse. I will hold that ethos forever that the show must go on.
Side note: My friend worked at that sushi spot and for about 2 years, that particular chalk board lunch special I ordered was called “The Sean Johnson Special.” I won’t say where though…
With all that said, when you’re in show mode and adrenaline is high, there really isn’t much you can do when your body starts to reject food. This is a particularly hard thing to deal with on the road. I have had similar situations on the road, and it’s made worse when playing in dives where bathrooms are unisex and have no doors, or worse not cleaned up after by someone with the same affliction as you. What I’ve learned to do is a pre show scope of the neighborhoods I play in to find the best bathrooms.
I never related to George Costanza as much as I do here:
Coffee shops come to mind, but they can be small and airtight. Grocery stores are a gamble and pubs are reliable. If you need true privacy, make sure to give a look around while you’re pulling up to the venue because you never know when it’ll hit, especially eating horrible road food.
Whats the point of all this, you ask? I find this story be enlightening and relatable. Everyone gets food poisoning and everyone has had a public fight with their stomachs. The way I see it, I’m doing a public service.
You’re welcome,
. Is this funny enough?See you all next week. Be safe.
PS - my band
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Rough.
This is about poop, but it's not about poop.