More THOR

The whole Thor trek I went on last night was inspired by this memory, which while meant for here also ended up on the Sick Fantasy drug thread.

Here's another scorcher from the annals of my alcoholism.

My bandmate Omid and I had to catch a 6 am flight to Vancouver to interview Canadian heavy metal legend Thor so I did what any tactical drunk would do, decided to stay up all night. I figured given it was an international flight, I should meet my Omid at 3 am, giving us an hour to get to the airport and then another 2 hours to get through security (ahh these post 9/11 times) so I went, suitcase and all, to troll the Ludlow strip.

As I walked in to my first stop, Max Fish, the doorguy stopped me and said, "Hey, you're Jen's friend Beverly, we're supposed to meet." Indeed he and I had a mutual friend and talking about her devolved into shots of Jaeger and singing along to Holocaust's heavy metal mania at the top of our lungs. Seven shots of Jaeger deep more friends showed up and by the time I made it to my (7 years sober) bandmate's house I was completely worthless.

Omid dragged my ass to JFK and somehow they let me on the plane. I didn't know what the fuck was going on when I woke up with a ripping headache midflight several hours later. When we landed I fetched my suitcase from the overhead bin and saw that it was completely covered in IRAK tags as well silver paint pen scrawls from ARE Weapons and Jake.

Still drunk I stumbled to customs where they informed me that I needed either a passport or a state id coupled with my birth certificate to gain entry into Canada. This was right around the time they were changing the rules and I was not aware of this necessity. All I had was drivers license. They told me that I would have to have my luggage searched and if I passed inspection they would allow me into Canada.

At this point I realized what a piece of shit I looked like. Bedraggled, still drunk, with six chains around my neck and a suitcase that said IRAK and ARE WEAPONS and wearing an ASSCHAPEL shirt rolling into town with a man of middle eastern descent wearing a Motorhead shirt didn't look good to say the least. However, despite my shittiness, I had nothing to hide so I agreed to be searched.

Apparently customs agents can detect distant memories because even though I hadn't done blow recently my luggage and purse tested positive for what they termed "significant traces" of cocaine. Then I remembered, a few weeks prior I'd hit it pretty hard with an all-nighter. But being a chick, they weren't even my drugs and I had done laundry since then. I watched them scan my luggage and then pull out my toothbrush for further testing. They did the same with my purse and pulled out my keys. FUCK!

After many accusations and denials we were at a standstill. They said they levels of cocaine did not make me seem like an occasional user and while they didn't care about my personal use, they needed to make sure I wasn't bringing drugs into their country. I was at a loss. It's very hard to defend yourself when you are telling the truth. Suddenly a woman took me aside and walked me to a corner. She told me, "There are two places people generally hide drugs when they are bringing them into the country, in their shoes and in their crotch. We've already checked your shoes..."

I think that must be the point when anyone who is hiding something breaks down and admits it. Since I had no drugs I just looked her in the eye and said, "I've already told you, I don't have any drugs on me, I don't know what else I can do to show you that." And then it was over.

Canada didn't exactly welcome me with open arms. Jon (aka Jon Mikl Thor aka fucking THOR himself) was waiting to pick us up at the airport and he made a comment about how long it had taken us to get through customs. Omid just shook his head in disgust and sighed. Jon took us to get burgers at some legendary Vancouver spot and initially I thought maybe some food would do me good. I was still drunk and beginning that slow painful transition from wasted to a walking waking hangover.

Our burgers arrived and I was doing all right. I ate a few bites then sat there trying to smile and appear attentive and pleasant during my first meeting with Thor himself but a few moments later I had to excuse myself and run to the bathroom. I made it to the stall, but not the toilet. I puked all over the stall, I'm talking projectile vomit all over. I tried to wipe it up with toilet paper but ran out. I hurriedly washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face before high-tailing it out of the bathroom, but I didn't totally get away with it. As I was exciting the bathroom a middle aged woman was coming in and I heard her gasp, "Oh my god! Some people are just disgusting!" as the door was closing behind me.

I sat back down at the table and stared at my burger. Jon joked about how women never finish their food and Omid just glared. Not a good way to start a three day stretch of interviewing one of your heroes.

That whole "getting kicked out of a thrash band for partying too hard" scenario is starting to make more sense.