So Mr. Smiff tells me to be at the studio at 12:30 because by then, our pal George Jones would be done doing his thing and we could do the Shake 'N Howdy. This is what he was told. Perfect because I could use my lunchtime to run over to Music Row and reasonably be back in an hour or thereabouts. I was planning on going about 12 so I could through the traffic, etc.
A little before 12, my phone rings and Mr. Smiff says "He's done...come on." Now, I don't work in the kind of building that I can hop out the door, be in my car and on the road in 60 seconds. I have to take a crosswalk back to the main building, hop an elevator, walk a good ways to the parking garage, drive over 123 speed bumps down about three levels to the street. It takes a little time. I get on Broadway and with all the Fan Fair traffic, Broadway was hopping. Everybody and their cousin was on Broadway. I had to sit at the light at Broadway and 12th through two cycles of red because the traffic was so bad, the intersection was blocked.
Just as I had turned from Broad to go up towards the light at Demonbreun, Mr. Smiff calls and says "He's leaving." Great. That was enough to send me into a raging, Mommie Dearest fit of tears and just pissed off in general. Of course, I missed George Jones. I was not nice to Mr. Smiff, I must confess. I believe I hung up on him. The same thing happened when Dierks did his thing on the recording...showed up a little earlier than planned, etc. I was sure Mr. Smiff and company had some sort of conspiracy against me by this time.
Mr. Smiff calls back and by this time, I turned around on Demonbreun and headed back to work. I was bawling and spewing obscenities about how I never get to do this or that and Lord only knows what else I said. Mr. Smiff was not the doormat husband either. He gave it back to me pretty good. I bet passersby wondered what in the world was wrong with the crazy woman in the mini van. The phone rang before I got back to work. I knew it was Mr. Smiff and I wouldn't answer it. I knew what he was doing.
I get back to work and am still feeling sorry for myself, STILL crying and wallowing in self-pity, as I'm so gifted at, and sitting in the garage, attempting to collect myself when the phone rings. I ignored it again. I couldnt carry on an intelligent conversation with The Possum while having an uncontrollable crying spell.
So, a little later, after I had resumed a normal demeanor, Mr. Smiff calls and tells me George really wanted to speak with me, after he found out who The Dad was. (Those two went back to Texas days, early in George's career and thought a lot of each other. George & Nancy sent a lovely flower arrangement for Dad's memorial in 1992). He told Mr. Smiff to get his home phone number from Karen (Grascals manager) and he wanted me to call him tonight.
We know my issues with the telephone and having to place calls to country music stars. If I couldn't bring myself to call Whisperin' Bill, the Lawd knows I REALLY would have an issue calling No Show. I could just hear me now "Hi Mithter Joneth.....I was having a nervous breakdown and psychotic episode earlier. Sorry I missed you." (I remembered later ol' George is not stranger to "moments." )
Mr. Smiff did call the Jones home this evening and thank goodness, he got the answering machine. He made an even more brilliant move and didn't leave his number on his message, but, that's OK. Maybe I'll catch him again. Hope so.
In the meantime, do listen and revel in the sounds of my favorite George Jones songs on this
A Piece O'Possum. Wait til you hear what he did with the Grascals. Mind blowing and Mama slapping. August 29th.
Take a whiff of Sista Smiff and you'll come back for more, that's fo sho!
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- Monday Oddities
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- ▼ June (69)