12.10.2016

ROADLOG: POLIZEI VS THE DONGER

ROADLOG: POLIZEI VS THE DONGER

11/24/16
We built a sleeper loft
In the cargo hold of the van.
It’s just a baby crib mattress
(from Bjorn’s house)
That we threw on top
Of the road cases.
It sleeps one.
Great on long drives.
But it’s cold as hell back there,
So we borrowed a pillow
And blanket from a hotel
To add to the luxurious
Comfort of the experience.
It’s a little bumpy,
But not bad.
Today we had a 7 hr drive to southern Germany.
So I climbed in the sleeper bed
In the back
With a bottle of water,
A book,
And my “Donger.”
My Donger is a plastic laundry detergent container
That I use as a piss bottle.
It’s disgusting,
But it’s the greatest thing ever.
But it freaks out everybody
In the van if gets near them.
Like it’s radioactive waste.
It’s not.
Relax, man. It’s just piss.
Not gonna kill you.
Just make you feel weird.
So I crash out in the loft.
Zonked. Out.
It’s nice back there.
A bit noisy with the wind drag,
But it’s good for quieting for the mind.
And I can rest my voice.
If I’m sitting in the van with the dudes,
I babble for hours. About whatever.
It’s hard to shut up. Unless I’m reading.
We roll on. All day.
About four hours into the drive,
I hear Tom knock
And yell something unintelligible
Through the cargo wall
Of the van.
Tom’s got a northern England accent.
It’s kind of lazy and warbly.
Hard to understand at times.
I feel the van slow down dramatically.
We exit and pull to the side of the road.
What’s going on?” I yell through the wall.
“We’re being pulled over the cops.”
Great.
German polizei.
Fantastic.
I roll my eyes.
We get this a lot,
Because we’re in a van with Dutch plates.
The polizei are always on the watch
For drug runners from the Netherlands.
I tell Kemmse, our tour manager,
To handle up on it.
Do the talking.
He’s a smart, healthy 6’5”
German from Bavaria.
He’ll handle it.
He’s also a trip: a total pack rack.
Keeps a ton of weird junk
In his pockets.
Like a lighters, ragged paper.
Pens, lucky charm stuff,
Ball Bearings, clippers.
All kinds of shit.
I don’t even know what it is.
It’s insane.
We’ve all got our quirks.
He also carries around
Sacks of empty plastic bottles
And cans which he claims
Are recyclable for 25 cents each
In Germany.
That’s all good and nice.
But when you’re in a van,
Packed with gear,
And there is a lot dude shit lying around,
You get a little annoyed
At having to constantly step over
His German Can-Man bags.
Don’t know how many times
On this tour I saw those bags
And was like, “What IS this shit?”
Back to the Polizei.
We’re getting pulled over.
Remember I’m in the back.
Kemmse hops out.
Calmly explains to them
We are an American band,
Touring in Germany.
All legit. Here’s the papers.
The van is a rental from Holland.
There are no drugs in the car.
Cops pull everybody out of the van.
I can hear them, grumbling, piling out
And walking to the rear.
I’m still in the back of the van,
Lying in the sleep loft.
I know we’re good;
We have no drugs or anything on us,
But if the cops are really anal,
We could get fined for me
Riding in the cargo section of the van,
Which has no seatbelts or anything.
Or whatever the violation is.
Also, with the current immigrant situation
In Germany,
It could be problematic.
Like maybe I’m some kind of
Jihadi stowaway.
They may want to run all the passports,
Waste our time,
And possibly fine me,
For riding in the back,
Stupid shit.
Outside, I can hear the polizei,
Going through everybody’s bags.
I have two choices:
Stay in the van, laid up, hidden.
Or hop out the back door,
Weird out the cops,
And possibly get fined & hassled.
I opt to stay in the van.
Fuck it.
I pull the blanket over my head
Wait it out and hide.
My Plan B is this:
If they search the back of the van
And find me,
I’ll exit with the Donger in my hand,
Act really weird, jittery, & sick
As if have some horrible strain of the flu.
I’ll augment this cover
By continuously sneezing and snotting
All over myself,
While nervously pacing around,
Waving The Donger.
In addition, I’ll do some improvised sign language,
Indicating that there is urine in
The Donger.
And that I am sick
And may need to puke
Or piss in The Donger
And that I would appreciate their help
If indeed that happens.
See how they like that.
I know it’s disgusting.
But it’s a plan.
So I just lay there in the back.
Listening to them outside.
Suddenly, the back door opens.
I stay still.
From a crack in the blanket,
I see a one of the cops
Direct Kent (bass) to pull his suitcase
Out of the van
So that they can search it.
One of the cops
Peeks in the door
And sniffs around
The back of the van.
I’m lying under a Mexican serape
And a hotel blanket,
Completely covered.
Apparently no one can see me
Because he turns
And immediately begins inspecting Kent’s bag.
I chill and wait.
Nothing really happens.
The cop never comes back
To inspect the rear of the van.
After about 10 minutes,
The discussion dies down.
I hear car doors slam.
A polizei pull off.
The guys pile in the van.
And we’re free to go.
Nice!
I didn’t have to hit the polizei
With the Snot & Donger routine.
In relieved tones,
As we jump back onto the Autobahn,
I can hear the guys
Discussing the experience.
Nervous laughter.
Raised voices.
Somebody pounds
On the back wall, laughing.
“They searched us all.
Didn’t find shit.
You didn’t even have to get out!”
Yep.
I nod to myself.
When in doubt,
Just lay low,
Do some Hidekwondo,
And keep The Donger the ready.

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