Ain't Karma Grand?

The following isn't true, but it makes me laugh to imagine something like it happening to someone.

I pulled up to the club on my Sportster, guitar strapped to my back. Outside, a gorgeous girl sauntered up to me before I'd cut the engine.

"I like your bike." she said, with a southern accent that would melt the honey out of a beehive. "Are you playing tonight?"

"Yyyyup."

"How's about taking me for a ride when you're done with the show?"

"I think that'd be just fine - I'll meet you right here in about an hour."

Now, I have rules about riding and going out. Actually just one rule: If I'm on two wheels, I'm not drinking anything, period. So I I hang out for a half-hour, hop up on the stage and plug in. Before the first song ended, a fat guy with an enormous cowboy hat yelled up at me:

"Why dunt you grab a beer en let someone else play, asshole!?!"

I replied to the crowd through the mic, "Well, you can't please them all, right?" A good chuckle, some applause here and there, but this guy wouldn't let it go:

"I dunt see you drinking none - what are you, some sort uh homo?"

"Wow, well, I guess we'll just move along to the next song then, shall we?"

And I played through the set with this guy yelling at me anytime I wasn't making noise. He was convinced that because I wasn't drinking like everyone else in the bar, I was "a bitch that ought to be stretched out on the subway tracks." It was painful as hell - every minute of the gig stretched on to an hour with this jerk-off screaming up at me.

After I packed up, I walked back outside and my southern bell was walking down the street towards me. Apparently she had missed the show - what luck! And better yet, she still wanted to go for a ride. So I started the bike, hopped on, and let her sit behind me, hands around my waist.

Then she said, "My brother is staying with me in the city for the weekend - I have to wait for him to come out of the bar so that I can tell him how to get home." About a minute later the douchebag from the show walks out of the door towards me. Perfect, I'm thinking. This is all I need - this guy is gonna ruin everything. But before I had a chance to say anything, she said to him, "Clarence, you walk on down the block and take the L-train to Lorimer. Walk three blocks to Jackson street and you'll know where you are. I'll see you in the morning."

He knew exactly who I was and I knew exactly who he was and neither of us said anything for a beat.

I shrugged and added, "Have a nice night on the subway, asshole!" and rode off.