Ah, the glamor of the clubs!
Back in the mid 1980s I worked in a club in Rochester. We had bands come there every weekend, of course, and some during the week. Some fairly impressive acts came through there- Hot Tuna played, as did Joan Jett and a band that was an offshoot from Journey (this was back when you couldn't escape Steve Perry's nasal voice coming from the radio). During this time the glamor of the music scene wore very thin indeed- for instance, Joan Jett is not only pockmarked but has a distinctive stench about her that damn near knocked me on my ass when she went through the kitchen and passed within a few feet of me. And her fans left a fetor in the building that lasted for days.

Then one night a new performer from NYC was coming through, and the buzz was that she was an up and coming act that was hitting it big. I saw her, a diminutive redhead in jeans and flannel, and was unimpressed- and what kind of a last name is Lauper, anyway? Her soundcheck was nice enough as she sang "Time After Time", but other than that I didn't much care.

I worked the show and was not really thrilled, but what the hell, it was a paycheck. I had to come in the following morning to open the place, which meant that I had to arrive at 8:00, tired from the late night and not overly cheerful. Even fresh coffee did little to help.

Then I went to clean out the dressing room, and discovered that maybe there was a reason she hadn't been so great onstage. Unfortunately it was my job, so I sighed and got to work.

To me fell the task of cleaning up Cyndi Lauper's vomit.

I quit not long after that.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Wed 8 Apr 2009, 21:15, 3 replies)

*click* but...
Wait, she tossed her cookies all over the dressing room? An no one managed to get it cleaned up til the morning after?
(lanternchikk hat eine schwere Bohlenallergie, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 2:02, closed)

nope.
She didn't clean it up, nor did anyone else. It was a bit crusty by the morning... I had to use a dustpan as a shovel.

That was even worse than Joan Jett's funk that clung to the place no matter how much room deodorizer I sprayed.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 9 Apr 2009, 11:58, closed)

it might have been serious.
Apparently she's got a hole in her heart that, metaphorically, goes all the way to China.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 9 Apr 2009, 8:31, closed)