This is the fourth and final installment in the Superglue saga, a cautionary tale of how silly pranks can escalate into serious mayhem and swift (if not quite instant) karmic retaliation. Previous installments include "The Game's Afoot " (FOH, Aug. 2011); "Bottle Rockets and ‘Snow' " (Sept. 2011) and "Adding Injury to Insult " (Oct. 2011). -ed.
It would be four hours or so before the two miscreants would get back to the hotel, and the bus wouldn't be leaving until 8:00 the next morning, so a plan was set in motion that reverberated through the entire industry and became the stuff of legend. Now you know why it happened: my guitar player would spend the next 10 days in the burn center screaming like a baby while the hospital workers peeled the dead skin off his ears. My cohort and I loaded the truck and left. Without a word, those 24 tubes of superglue came out of their storage place in one of the cases and were split up between the two of us. We also got a couple pairs of scissors and a roll of duct tape. We drove the truck away from the loading dock, acting like we were overcome with grief, when really we were covering that part of our faces so that we could start manufacturing what would become known as The Plan.
We parked the truck about four blocks from the hotel on a side street and walked the rest of the way. I came up with a plan to get into their hotel room. I waited in the hallway out of sight until the maid come by, then I made my appearance. I told the lady while waving a $10 bill in one hand that I had just left my key in the room and had to get to the show right now. I would give her the $10 if she would let me in the room. The bill was the sight-catcher that every magician uses to distract an audience away from what the other hand was doing. In my case, I had palmed my own key to my hotel room such that the room number on the key tab was facing my palm. As I entered the room quickly – like a man with a purpose – I swiped at the table where the TV was and came up with a key, thanking her for helping me and handing her the bill as I carefully unlocked the door and made my exit. My cohort and I waited in the stairwell until she got on the elevator to go to whichever floor was next on her rounds, and then we entered the room without a witness.
The Plan Unfolds
We started with the shower curtain. It was removed from the tub and cut into covers that fit over every drain and air vent in the sink, the toilet and the tub. Each one was dutifully super-glued in place and the toilet ball glued in the down position. We'd shut the water to the toilet off so that we could do this without it running. Next, we glued their luggage to the furniture and then disassembled the phone. Inside the phone, we super-glued the hook switch so that it wouldn't move. We super-glued the key pad so it wouldn't work. We reassembled the phone and removed both the mouth and ear piece to gain access to the speaker and mic within, cutting the wires on one and removing them both. We then super-glued the covers back in place and glued the handle into the cradle and the phone to the counter.
With all the preps done, my partner in crime headed for the lobby. He waited there in a coffee shop until the band's bus arrived from the gig and called me. Yes, the phone would still ring, but that's all it would do. A series of rings told me when the miscreants were on the elevator. I flushed and glued the handle on the toilet, turned the water on and glued all four faucet knobs and made my exit taking up a position across that hall behind a Coke machine. My partner ran up the 14 flights of stairs and waited at the entrance to the 14th floor, and on my cue would appear and begin to start phase two of The Plan.
The two miscreants walked down the hall alone, quietly discussing how they had never intended for the guitar player to be injured, acting like they'd had won the battle. As they walked into the room and the door closed behind them, I could see them stop in their tracks, listening to the sound of water hitting the floor coming from the bathroom. Game on.
The Gods of Payback
As the door closed, I shot the handle and lock assemblies with glue. My partner shot the hinges and I began tearing strips of duct tape off with which to seal the door. We then vacated the scene of the crime and walked casually out of the hotel, back to the truck and left. We headed for Cleveland where we would wait out the hospital stay of the guitar player and rejoin the tour at the famous "Riot House" in LA. (the Continental Hyatt House, for those who have never seen the movie, Almost Famous).
We were waiting in the lobby when they arrived. The two miscreants immediately came up to us, bowing and genuflecting and asking for permission to speak to the Gods of Payback. It was granted, and a meeting was scheduled for the bar as soon as they had finished checking in.
Once there, we were told of the night when water rose to the tops of the furniture and how they were unable to turn the water off or remove any of the drain covers. They located a pen and tried stabbing holes in the drain covers, but by the time they did, water was knee-deep in the room. They had been distracted by the phone and trying to get it to work instead of tending to the more immediate business of stopping the water flow.
When they didn't show up for the 8:00 bus call, the road manager called the room repeatedly, only to hear the sound of ringing on the earpiece. About the same time, someone from the front desk noticed water was entering the lobby (14 floors down) from the stairwell and went to investigate the source. It took a locksmith to get their water-logged bodies out of the room and back on solid ground and a team of maids hours to remove the water from the hallway and turn that floor of the hotel back to serviceable condition. They pleaded with us – constantly addressing us as "King" or "General" – to allow them to continue their useless lives without further retribution. Their request was summarily granted.
As my partner and I walked out of the coffee shop, an assembled group of musicians and roadies alike broke into applause, and in fact cheering, that continued until we got on the elevator and headed up to our room, where two very fine-looking ladies were waiting for us. They were gifts from the headliner himself as tribute to the greatest practical joke he'd ever witnessed – and in hopes of calling attention off his crew so that they would not be two hours late for their next show. The practice of waiting till the next day to leave for the next show ended with this event, as people decided ‘tis better to sleep on the way to the next gig in relative safety (bunks were installed on buses to facilitate this) rather than find one's self in the center of the Purple Target.
