In this Crazy Tour Stories segment, the pop band, Hey Violet, shares one of their stories from being on the road.

Hey Violet

In this Crazy Tour Stories segment, the pop band, Hey Violet, shares one of their stories from being on the road. You can check out the story, after the break.

It was the summer of 2016 and we were high off the excitement of being young and on tour. Every day was something new – new venue, new food, new faces, new things to see. Luckily, our tour manager would only ever send through the most detailed and meticulous of itineraries as to keep us from getting restless in each city.
On this particular day, we were in Toronto, Canada at the Molson Canadian Amphitheatre. For this story to make more sense, let me give you a little run down of what the venue looks like. It’s a big white building with a capacity of 16,000 and a luscious green lawn spanning all across the back of the venue. It’s also completely flanked by a whole lot of ocean, which made it incredibly easy for us to admire any kayaking or boating passerbyers who we’d wave to with fervor. In a way, the amphitheater is on its own little island, with only a bridge to get you in and out which made the whole day feel like we were in a world of our own.
With the sun shining down on us, we took the time before soundcheck to chase the geese that were really just trying to mind their own business on the lawn. Being 18 to 20 years old, it was really difficult for us to ever sit still so trouble was always what we were looking for in any form. Despite that, the majority of the day went on as usual. We enjoyed ourselves at catering and I (Nia), having the sweet tooth that I do, helped myself to two desserts – pre-dinner and post-dinner, just the way I like it. We spent a good amount of time backstage peering through the windows and shaking our hands wildly any time we saw a boat in the distance. Other than that, we went about our preshow warmups and ritual just like any other day in the life of a musician on tour. The show went on without a hitch and we chattered for a while afterwards to gauge how we felt about it. How did we feel about the crowd? What did we like about the set? What worked? What didn’t? Despite our collective antsy nature as a band, we always knew there had to be a little work in between all the moments of play and that rung true here. Well… for a little while. Until we realized we were one day closer to having a day off which just amped up everyone’s rowdiness in the venue.
After the show, the crew and all the band members posted up outside of the busses as we began to plan the rest of the evening. It was quite the habit of ours to talk until everyone was out of breath and then dare each other to bring the night to the next level. This night was no different and a late bus call only encouraged us to make this a story to remember. As time wore on, everyone began to split off into little groups. Ours
comprised of us, a few crew members, and a member of one of the other bands. Through hushed tones, we played our favorite game, called “What Are The Odds”, which is essentially a daring game based on probability with the daree picking a number between 1 and 100. If the darer and daree pick the same number, the daree must complete the dare or face the consequence of getting a no holds barred slap to the face. For some reason, we always felt like the slap was a thousand times worse than any dare would be, especially if Rena was the one dealing the slap. We all watched on as dare after dare was fumbled until finally, one of the crew members was coaxed to steal a golf cart from right under venue security’s nose. I’m not kidding. Security sat perched 5 feet away from the sparkling white temptress we know as The Golf Cart. With a big sigh and just a sip of liquid courage, the crew member, who we will lovingly refer to as John Smith, puffed out his chest and headed towards glory.
Waiting for the right moment, John Smith took the opportunity as soon as he saw the guards look away. By some sort of miracle, the keys were in the ignition, just further proving that this is exactly what needed to happen tonight. I don’t know if golf cart engines rev, but as he came barreling towards us, yelling at us to get in, I felt the atmosphere around me rumbling as if there was an earthquake beneath my feet. We complied with his commands and fearfully took the leap onto the golf cart that was most definitely going only 10mph max. It was just a moment before security caught on, flickering their flashlights at us, all their calls for us to stop fallen flat on the blacktop behind us. We zoomed over the bridge to the carpark where fans of the headliner waited eagerly to catch a glimpse of them. We ended up weaving in and out of spots,
high-fiving fans as we drove past them, when what to my wandering eye did appear – AN ENEMY GOLF CART WAS HERE. We watched in horror and glee as this vehicle flew over the bridge and straight at us, angry Canadian voices echoing throughout the parking lot. John expertly navigated our cart around every obstacle and got them off our tails momentarily. It was just enough time for us to get over the bridge and back to our bus, where John ordered us to get off and hide while he tried to evade now TWO enemy golf carts. We didn’t even take a moment to watch as he disappeared into the empty venue before throwing open our bus door and begging our tour manager to say we’ve been asleep all night, no questions asked. We quickly peeled off our show clothes and slunk into our bunks quietly waiting for possible impending doom. It was less than five minutes later that a flustered John stumbled into the bus with sweat dripping from his brow as he, too, asked for an alibi, to which our tour manager nodded and rolled his eyes. It was ten to fifteen minutes later that we all shook to the sound of an angry knock being planted on our door. Our tour manager stepped outside with the furious head of venue security and we listened through the walls as he calmly explained that he didn’t know anything about any stolen golf carts getting taken for a joyride around the venue. Without any hard evidence, the man stormed off and had no choice but to let it go. Our tour manager returned to a chorus of giggles bounding out of each of our bunks. We stayed in the back lounge for the rest of the night until bus call, then headed off to get in trouble somewhere else.

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