Why I Gave Up Groupies
It's the 70's.
We're staying in the bass player's converted school bus. We're playing a week in Groton Ct over Christmas. I'm kind of a shy guy. We're playing the first set. Break, and the bass player - who lives locally - introduces me to a dark haired beauty. Talk, drink, set 2. Break, I take her outside for some smoke. 3rd and 4th sets we cook. We're breaking down afterwards, and I don't have a car. She offers to drive me home. I didn't care, and she proceeds to give me a Quaalude. We go outside, she throws me the keys, which, of course, I drop in the snow.
I drive. I run a red light. I crash into another car (Who is actually driving at 3am in Groton in the cold? I hit the one person that was out.) She gets out and talks to the people. Then she drives me to her apartment.
I know we did lots of things, judging by how I felt (and smelled) in the morning. I open my eyes. There's an infant in the bed. It looks at her, says "Mommy". It looks at me and says "Daddy". What at buzzkill. I'm feelin real bad now. She drives me back to the bus.
Night 2. I'm not doing very well. I just want to crawl into my sleeping bag on the bus. We get back to the bus after the gig. I crawl into my sleeping bag. There's another girl in there, and she's not listening to "I'm tired". I pass out after she's finished with me.
The rest of the week I got passed back and forth between these two, who luckily didn't know about each other (I didn't do too much talking that week.)
I get back to Boston. It hurts to pee. Go to Mass General. Get a shot. Tell my girlfriend I've got a problem. She dumps me. The band breaks up. I'm done with this scene for 20 years.
