April 7, 2000 -- Chicago to Austin the Hard way

We had played two shows at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago and were scheduled to fly to Austin, Texas the next day for a show at the Armadillo the following night. Lita and Cherie decided they were tired of flying, so they left that night right after the last Chicago show and drove with the crew to Austin.

The next day, Sandy and Joan and I were ready to leave for the airport, but our manager, who talked on the phone so much the band nicknamed him "Tyrone Telephone," was tied up on a call and we were running even later than usual. To top it off, it had started snowing.

We got the taxi driver to speed in the snow and managed to make the flight, but didn't have time to check any luggage. So the four of us took all of our things onto the plane, along with a few items Cherie and Lita had left behind in their haste to get on the road in time. The plane had a 15-minute stop-over in Dallas before heading on to Austin, so when we landed, Sandy, Joan and our manager got off to buy snacks and magazines, and I stayed on the plane to watch our stuff.

15 minutes passed and Sandy, Joan and our manager hadn't gotten back on the plane. 20 minutes... 25. The flight crew closed the doors and got into their jump seats preparing for take-off. All of a sudden, one of the stewardesses jumped up and opened the door, and Joan came racing in with all of the crew glaring at her. We took off and 20 minutes later, Joan and I arrived in Austin with 5 people's luggage and no one to meet us. We were 16 years old.

Joan pretended to have a limp so we could get her a wheelchair. I don't think she fooled anybody, but they gave us the wheelchair anyway and we piled all of our things onto it. Fortunately, I remembered the name of the hotel we were staying at in Austin, and we called them and got someone to come pick us up. When we got to the hotel, however, we couldn't check in because neither of us had a credit card. So we left the baggage at the front desk and wandered around the hotel grounds.

Pretty soon, we stumbled onto a building in which the hotel staff was setting up a party for later that night. We talked the bartenders into giving us drinks, and by the time our manager and Sandy showed up, Joan and I were plastered. I have a vague memory of sitting at a very long table which was covered by a long, red table cloth, and thinking it would be pretty cool to do the old 'pull the tablecloth out from under the drinks' trick -- with my teeth. It didn't work and I got kicked out of the party.

But at least I got myself to Texas.