Delivering the Goods

How you doing, people?
This is Chap Stique.  I'm writing you from the chillingly cold, strangely overcast city of Cleveland.  Every time we play here, I feel a dire need to yell, “Hello Cleveland” in my most tidy, frantic English accent while unabashedly pumping my fist (to honor our friends in a tiny band called Spinal Tap).  For those of you Cleveland-ers, I've done that at every show in your city, but I don't have a mic, so it's solely for the enjoyment of those who are skilled in the art of lip-reading.

I get to see my wife tomorrow!  Woo hoo!

So I just hung up from one of the most bizarre conversations I've ever had, and I'm extremely confused.  Here's the explanation: my beautiful white PRS guitar suffered from a few wiring problems (I apologize to any fans who had to experience the technical difficulties involved with this), and the company offered to fix the guitar for me-by the way, they have the most incredible employees in the world.  The repairs have been made, and the guitar has been FedEx-ed to tomorrow's show!  Again, it rules to have the help of such a supportive guitar company.

I opened my email to review the FedEx tracking information, and was slightly concerned when I noticed that the projected delivery time was 11:00 am.  The venue told me nobody would be present to receive the guitar until 12:00 pm, so I decided to call FedEx to see if they could alter the delivery time by an hour. 

After staying on hold for an absurdly long time, a receptionist picked up, noticeably perturbed by a previous call.  I explained the situation and politely requested that she change the delivery time from 11:00 to 12:00 to make it easier for everybody (the sender, recipient, deliverer, and rock band).  The woman promptly raised her voice and scolded me, saying, “Sir, I am just a customer service representative.  I don't deliver the guitar.  I have no clue what time it will arrive!” 

Taken aback, I quietly replied, “I'm sorry, ma'am.  I realize you don't make the delivery, but if you can give the driver a note to wait until noon, he or she will be able to deliver it to a person rather than having to send it ba--.”  She furiously interrupted me, yelling, “SIR (by the way, I hate like when people call me “sir” and assume that it magically turns their insults into compliments), this is a HUGE snafu, and this is one of the craziest, most ridiculous deliveries I've ever dealt with!  You might just have to pick up the guitar from Mr. Smith” 

Trying not to laugh (Mr. Smith lives in Baltimore, and we're not going back near there for probably a good 5 months or so), I decided to end the call before the poor agent's head blew off.  “Thank you,” I said, realizing that I might not see that guitar for awhile.

Speaking of gear, I am thoroughly enjoying plenty of new gizmo's on the Dance Rawr Dance II tour.  Line 6 hooked me up with a unique new amp head (designed by Reinhold Bogner), and Dunlop is supposed to be helping us make some personalized picks that you guys will love.  I finally got a pedaltrain board for my effects, and I got a really cool wah on eBay for a fifth of the normal price!  Things are sounding pretty good, and I'm excited to have some new toys.

In other news, a girl in Canada told me she liked my mullet yesterday!  Incredible.  I have been striving for a Euro-mullet for quite some time, and that was the first somebody legitimately called it a mullet without being prompted to do so.  Another girl told me she thought that I was 33, which was weird, because people usually guess 19.  I guess I need to bust out the anti-wrinkle cream around my eyes!

Tub-O's back, and that's a treat.  The opening bands rule, and airlines suck.  Thanks for reading, and rock it!
Chap Stique