I appreciate the fact that you gave us such a great show last night. Indeed you performed your ass off, as did the rest of your 11-piece band, and it was magnificent to be in your audience. Between the three percussion stages and the guitars you were weaving through as fast as a woman in Oaxaca weaves thread through her loom, we felt as if we were taken on a musical trip that started in Africa, stopped for a night in Iberia, took a slow turn through Cuba, had a reunion in the Haight Asbury, and finished in a smooth landing in Mexico. We said last night that your music could bring a woman to climax without ever being physically touched. Seriously, we said that. What you gave us last night was worth every penny those tickets cost. In fact, when I look at what we got versus what we paid, well I think we shortchanged you. So, that was very generous of you, and we thank you.
However, if you might have played just one more song in the encore, or maybe anywhere in your set, we likely would have arrived to our hotel at a different moment than we did, and quite possibly might have been able to bypass the teeny tiny incident that has left us in a bit of a dilemma on this Saturday afternoon. That being that WE HAVE NO CAR BECAUSE SOME JACKASS GOT INTO IT AT THE VALET STAND AND DROVE IT AWAY.
No, seriously, that's what happened. It's even on the top-secret surveillance tape that apparently only one person in Dallas is allowed to view, or even knows how to operate, and I don't know why it takes him three hours to get to the hotel but, if I had to guess, I'd say that he had to walk here from his boyfriend's house and his boyfriend lives in Grapevine.
That aside, in all the dark and grainy murkiness of the tape, you can see the jackass in the brown suit lurking a few steps behind us to make sure that we've gone into the hotel, then turning around and walking straight to the car, opening the door, turning the engine and driving away.
You might be wondering where that left us, besides being without a car and all. Well, until that tape was viewed, it left us at the mercy of the hotel and - are you sitting down, because the story goes south real quick at this point - they calmy told us that they received an anonymous call from a woman who told them that she drove us to the hotel last night in our car and then took the car somewhere (she couldn't remember where - hotel manager's words) and just found out that it had been towed. A very confusing element to the story, that was. And for reasons still unclear, it left us in the position of having to defend our story (which should also be stated: After the concert we drove ourselves to the hotel, gave the car to valet, and that was the last we saw of it).
Finally, when the top secret surveillance tapes were viewed, our story was validated and the clouds above broke open and the lights from heaven shined down upon us and we started hearing things from the hotel manager along the lines of What can we do to make you comfortable?
And we felt like saying, Oh right, NOW you're asking.
Mr. Santana, there is so much more that I could say. To pick one, for instance, I could tell you that at 11:15 this morning, when we were told that they found our silver Porsche, we had to say for the 100th time that we were in a black Jag. We felt as if our entire lives depended on the combined questionable keystone competency of the valet company, hotel management, Dallas police, and mysterious surveillance tape individual.
And that feeling was not what I would call warm and cozy.
Still, I think you'd have been proud us, given your light and love and peace approach to life, because I have to tell you that there was not one single moment when we let go our admittedly ever-dwindling hold on our cool. Well, when we were alone in our room, we did say WHAT THE FUCK a few times, but I think that's understandable.
During one of the WTF times in our room, we learned that the police had found the car in a tow-lot. That would normally be good news but before we had time to sigh our relief, we also learned that there was some confusion because apparently two blag Jags were towed last night, one from Elm and the other from Greenville. Did we know our license plate number? Ha! That was funny.
I said to my friend, I think it's funny that the concert is only a 'part' of the story now. And she laughed. And then she made a couple phone calls. The most important one being the one made to her business partner who ultimately is the leasor of the car and who we were told was the only person on the planet who could possibly retrieve the car from impoundment. But we laughed at that theory, because while her business partner was swinging away in a golf tournament in California and really couldn't be bothered beyond wigging out that her identify might have been revealed if the car theif went through her insurance, we had mobilized an entire team of friends in Houston who were just waiting for us to fax the affidavit, so they could fill it out, forge the signature, and return by fax the golden ticket that would get us our car and the heck out of town.
Let me say that it did not matter a bit to the impoundment dude that we held the valet ticket that had 000625 printed on it and matched the same 000625 on the tag hanging from the rear-view mirror of the particular jag in his lot. In Texas, you have to have proof.
Or at least semblance of proof. Because we did FINALLY hear the knock on our door from the manager and in his hands he was personally delivering the very important signed and notarized paperwork from our friends in Houston, but to him her business partner, that had been faxed to the hotel. And soon enough we were retrieving the car, checking out of the hotel, and returning to Houston.
A good hour south of Dallas, with all the comfort of our newly rediscovered independence, we remembered the reason we were there in the first place, which was you. And you were great!
So I'd like to say, Thank you very much, we had a very nice time. But next time, I think we'll opt to see you in another city. Or at least stay at Za Za.
Light and Peace and Love,