On two occasions, we played in a venue that could best be described as a Olive-Garden-type restaurant. If a loud rock cover band playing in an Olive Garden sounds like a ridiculous scenario, that’s because it is. We were well aware of the fact that we would be too loud, but the owner crossed our palms with silver, so we showed up and plugged in.
So, basically for the first three hours of our performance, no one was listening to us (as expected). The night took a decidedly more interesting turn at around 12:30 a.m. A girl walks into the place, alone, essentially just begging for a conversation with anybody. So our lead singer approaches her at the bar during a break and says hello, etc., and—immediately—the whole band gets a weird vibe. Something’s just … off.
Not being well versed in drugs, I turn to the bassist mid-song and mouth the word “Ecstasy?” He kinda shrugs and nods at the same time—basically saying that he thinks so, but like me, really has no idea. The strange dancing continues for some time, but then the girl starts to knock over things accidentally, like a drink glass or mic stand. The owner appears and asks her to leave. She seems to not comprehend such a request. (We’re playing this whole time, so I’m just reading body language and lips, really.)
The owner grows more frustrated, and the girl goes from wacky-happy to angry. Cops are called and the girl is arrested and taken to a police cruiser while she’s highly emotional and yelling. The whole thing was just nuts. The nicest place we will ever play, and it’s our only arrest story. The place did not invite us back—I have no idea why.