While loading in to the first gig with a new band in Asbury Park, NJ I slipped on some trash. My feet went left; gravity did the rest. One the way down I held onto the handle of my hand-truck, which was loaded with my gear, crushing two fingers on my right hand between the handle and the sidewalk. One finger was broken and another partially amputated. Oh yeah, both fingernails were missing. (Glad I didn’t post a picture of that, aren’t you?) After some stitches and a bottle of oxycontin, I was (almost) good as new in six weeks. Didn’t miss a gig – except the one I was loading into that night.
Flash forward two years. Loading into another gig in Asbury Park – yet again a first gig with a new band. I have my electric upright bass in a gig bag on my shoulder when I hear a short but rather loud ripping sound. Suddenly I’m holding a strap with no bass attached to it. The bass took a dive to the sidewalk, head first. I bring the bass inside and unzip the bag to find the headstock is split in pieces (see picture).
Asbury Park sidewalk: 2 – Me: 0
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