Fellow bassists - have you been to the Twilight Zone and survived to tell the tale? I'd love to hear about it!
This thread is intended for tales of the strange, the weird, the unusual, and the nonsensical. Feel free to share your stories of bass-playing adventures that are at odds with the fabric of reality.
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I'll start with one that just happened to me today.
I walk into a music shop near my work, next to where I was getting lunch. The shop is fairly odd, sporting just a handful of string instruments, guitars, electric pianos, one precision bass. I notice the wall behind the counter has a small assortment of acoustic and electric guitar strings. I don't see any bass strings. A lanky, elderly gentleman in the back of the shop walks up to the counter; I presume he is the owner or manager. Eerily, he reminds me of the Tall Man. This exchange ensues:
He reaches for the lone pack of larger strings on the rack. It is a clear and open plastic pouch with four white envelopes, each marked with the string gauge and nothing more. There are no other identifying marks on the package.
I believe I found our local door to the Twilight Zone.
This thread is intended for tales of the strange, the weird, the unusual, and the nonsensical. Feel free to share your stories of bass-playing adventures that are at odds with the fabric of reality.
-------------------------
I'll start with one that just happened to me today.
I walk into a music shop near my work, next to where I was getting lunch. The shop is fairly odd, sporting just a handful of string instruments, guitars, electric pianos, one precision bass. I notice the wall behind the counter has a small assortment of acoustic and electric guitar strings. I don't see any bass strings. A lanky, elderly gentleman in the back of the shop walks up to the counter; I presume he is the owner or manager. Eerily, he reminds me of the Tall Man. This exchange ensues:
ME: "Do you carry bass strings?"
HIM: "Sure do."
HIM: "Sure do."
He reaches for the lone pack of larger strings on the rack. It is a clear and open plastic pouch with four white envelopes, each marked with the string gauge and nothing more. There are no other identifying marks on the package.
ME: "What brand are these?"
HIM: "Fender - they're really nice."
ME: "Do you carry Ernie Ball?"
HIM: "What? No one carries those anymore."
ME: "I see. I'll pass on these. Thanks anyway."
HIM: "Fender - they're really nice."
ME: "Do you carry Ernie Ball?"
HIM: "What? No one carries those anymore."
ME: "I see. I'll pass on these. Thanks anyway."
I believe I found our local door to the Twilight Zone.
