Can I step out of the van? Hell no!

Mark received a very nice bottle of Woodford Reserve Double Oaked Bourbon Whiskey as a gift from a very thoughtful friend. The bottle was engraved with WVGs Logo above the rear label on the back of the bottle, and filled with an elegant golden inlay. It was one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

When we left our friends house, Mark couldn't quit looking at the bottle. He was so excited and blown away by such an amazing gift. All the way home he would hold the bottle up to each passing streetlight, examining the logo, the color of the beautiful liquid inside, and debate with himself about which coming occasion would justify opening such a precious gift. Then, he dropped it.

It was the first time I saw Mark cry in years. I even shed a tear or two, partly due to the vapor filling the van but mostly because in one split second, one bump in the road, one slip of the hand, all of those plans for a special occasion shattered on the van floor soaking Marks boots and much of the red carpeted interior of the van. It was such a sad moment, and surly will never be forgotten. Not only for the loss of the whiskey and the cool engraved bottle, but for what happened next.

As luck would have it (or bad luck, I guess you could say), the shattering of the glass and tremendous splash that followed started me enough to cause me to swerve, veering in to the left lane just enough to catch the attention of a police officer parked on the side of the road right ahead of us. I quickly gained composure and control of the van, checked my speed and continued to drive as law abidingly as possible. But seconds later, there he was on our tail, lights flashing and demanding me to pull the van over.

Now it just so happened, the night before I injured my back loading gear after a show. The Ibuprofen was wearing off and the sudden startle moments before had sent my body reeling about a foot off my seat and sent my back into another painful spasm. This was not a good time for that 'tap tap tap' on my widow by a very serious no-nonsense looking officer.

As soon as I managed to painfully lean up and slowly crank the window down I realized how this all looked, and smelled. The officers face changed from seriousness to a startle as he gasped for a fresh breath and fumbled two steps back. Immediately and sternly he asked, "can you both please step out of the vehicle?!!!" I tried to quickly explain that I was in a lot of pain and that Mark was nearly blind and would need assistance. But, he didn't want to hear it. In fact he made it very clear that he wasn't actually asking, but demanding. 

I managed to open the door and ease myself out with a death-grip on the doorhandle and all the poise and posture of Dr Frankenstein's monster. Mark scurried out as fast as he could and immediately fell face first into a ditch on the side of the road. After we both gained some semblance of composure we were marched to the front of the vehicle where Mr. No-nonsense Policeman attempted to run us through a series of sobriety tests. Which of course, being stone-cold-sober we still managed to fail.

Moments later two more patrol cars swooped up to the scene. And two more boys in blue emerged from their cars ready to assist and most likely help take us in. "Hey!" one of the newly arrived officers happily exclaimed, "It's the White Van Guys! You performed at my sisters birthday party in Xenia." Mark and I were on our knees, in front of the van, heads down, hands cuffed behind our back. I looked up hoping to see a familiar face, but I swear I’ve never seen this guy before in my life, and I had no idea what party he was referring to.

My mind was racing, trying to come up with any recollection of a gig in Xenia; a face, a name, anything. But I couldn't do it. I don't recall ever performing at a birthday in Xenia. I smiled as big as I could, maybe too big considering the situation.  "Yeah! I remember that. We had such a great time!" I happily replied, still not even the faintest idea of what, when, or where he was talking about.

"How is your sister?" Mark Chimed in, taking the pressure off me in case I needed to provide some details about this 'great time'. I was in no position to be lying to a cop! I'm sure Mark knew by the tone of my voice I was lost, so he stepped in trying to save me.  "She's great. What a fun night that was. Thanks again, you two really made it memorable. I recognized the van as soon as I pulled up, haha!" replied Mr Good Cop.

Mark fumbled through two or three minutes of awkward conversation, cuffed and on his knees looking up at the officer. Soon they were laughing and talking like they were two buddies sitting at the bar., even in such a predicament Mark managed to charm the officer like only Mark can. "Your sister has such a nice place" he said with a seemingly genuine smile. He even managed to squeeze out a few details about the party from Mr. Good Cop, then Mark repeated everything back to him like it was his own memory. And the two of them laughed and laughed.

 "Hey", Mr Good Cop asked turning to look at the officer that pulled us over "what's the situation here?" The original officer (Mr Bad Cop), proceeded to explain quite succulently how bad we smelled, how we both stumbled out of the van, and how magnificently we failed at even walking a straight line. Luckily, Mr Good Cop allowed us to explain everything. My back pain, the broken bottle, the fact that Mark is practically blind and can't even SEE a line to walk it (Mr Bad Cop scoffed at this explanation, even interjecting to ask sarcastically, "why does he wear eyeglasses if he's blind?").

But Mr Good Cop listened. He searched the van and saw the broken bottle, he's met us before and knew about Marks eyesight, and he believed me about my back pain ( "you do haul a lot of heavy gear", he agreed). Eventually he talked Mr Bad Cop in to taking off the cuffs and let us go with a warning to "Be more careful", but only after having us blow into the breathalyzer that Mr Good Cop brought, of course. 

So all's well that ends well, I suppose. Except for the whiskey. That was a sad ending. I'm just glad that there are good cops out there willing to listen. And thankful that he recognized us. This must be what famous people feel like, and how they get away with s#!t (not that WE did anything wrong). 

But, I'll never forget officer whats-his-name or his sister, whoever she is from whatever party we played. And Mark and I will never forget the thoughtful, very cool, probably very good whiskey that never made it to a special occasion. Maybe if we play another party in Xenia we'll pick some up to share with Mr Good Cop and his sister. Sally? Oohhh, yeahhhhh... I think her name was Sally.

See ya at the show
-Shane