Recently the Misses and I were vacationing in a lovely little small town in Southern Minnesota.
I brought my Taylor acoustic guitar along as I like to do when away for a few days. Even if I don't play it, it's nice to know I've got it on hand should musical inspiration unexpectedly pop up. Plus it's a rather spendy chunk of wood that I saved up a long time in order to buy, and separation anxiety starts to set in if I don't see it over extended periods of time.
I had the guitar safely (or so I thought) in its hardshell case sitting on the hotel bed. I was getting ready to play and wiping my grubby hands down with a handy dandy moist towelette as I like to do. That's when the weirdest thing happened: Suddenly the damned towelette burst into flames right in my very own hands. I was like, all, what the hell, man? and felt my hands telling my brain that they would start to burn if I didn't let go. I threw the towel and it landed on the bed next to my guitar case, shook the pain off of my hands, and then watched in horror as the case started on fire. Well gawd damn.
I stood there watching the case start to melt and wondered how it could melt, because it was made of wood.. and last I heard, wood doesn't melt. I grabbed a pillow and smothered the flames, opening the case in cold panic making sure my guitar was okay. It seemed fine, and I was a little freaked out wondering how a moist towelette could burst into flames like that. They aren't made to do that; they're made to smell like Froot Loops and make my hands all nice and clean.
I picked up my guitar and played it for a minute. Something didn't seem right, so I checked the Yella Pages in the hotel room for a music store in town to have a looksie and get a professional opinion.
We walked down to the music shop I found in the phone book and I took my guitar in to see if someone would take a look at it. Behind the counter was Mike, the owner of Eclipse Concert Systems in West St. Paul! I wasn't sure what he was doing working at this other store smack dab in the middle of nowhere, but left my guitar with him to look at. I trust the guy and it was cool to see him again, as I was an avid Eclipse customer for a good 10 years back when I lived over there.
We left for lunch and stopped back in a bit later to see if Mike had a chance to look at my geetar, only to find him sitting with a really weird vintage looking instrument jamming with a band up at the front counter. Not missing a single note, he nodded his head sideways, sort of motioning me back behind the counter as if to say "I'm jammin', man. Your guitar is back there... you can go grab it."
I stepped through the band behind the counter to my semi-melted guitar case and opened it up. It looked fine to me. I ran my fingers across the edge of the body and my heart dropped.. on the front bottom side of the guitar, a good 2" chunk had been taken out of it. Even though acoustic guitar bodies are hollow, the newly damaged area was solid. It almost looked as if it was made of cheese and somebody had taken a huge bite out of it.
I hated myself. I'd had this guitar for almost 5 years and managed to keep it as well as the case in immaculate condition (the wooden Taylor guitar cases aren't made anymore and are highly coveted by Taylor guitar owners.) I'd saved up so long for this thing. It was my first "real" acoustic guitar after years of playing cheap knock-offs, and I was always took such pride in owning such a beautiful, nice playing instrument. But now I was standing there with tears welling up in my eyes.. looking at a melted case and a rather expensive guitar with a big eyesore of a chunk missing from the body.
My mind was racing. If only my dumb ass would have washed my hands at the sink with soap and water instead of using that moist towelette. If only I could go back in time and throw it somewhere other than the bed when it burst into flames. It's going to take me a few years to save up for a new one.
At that precise moment, I blinked a few times and couldn't see a thing... everything went pitch black. I heard a clock ticking. I reached down to my right and felt my cat Frank sleeping at my side. Goldie was on my left sleeping as well. My heart was writhing in disgust over what happened to my guitar, and I ran my fingers through my hair to try and calm myself down. It's just a guitar, I kept thinking.
I got out of bed, walked to the fridge, and pulled a big ol' refreshing gulp of orange juice from the carton. Temporarily blinded by the fridge light, I stumbled back into bed and let out a sigh of relief.. I wondered why I just can't just for once have a really awesome dream. Something along the lines of winning a lifetime supply of uber-soft Sour Patch Kids, or if my Pinto was made out of delicious milk chocolate that regenerated itself every time someone took a bite.
And back to sleep I went.
