Karma thy name be Rick Springfield

Let me preface this entry with a few points:

1. I was not a fan of Rick Springfield. I am now.

2. My husband has no interest in meeting celebrities.

3. My husband loathes the spotlight. LOATHES it. Why he married a woman that carries around her own microphone and spotlight is beyond me.

4. My husband has a …well, let’s call it a “talent” to make fun of, pull jokes, pranks, etc on others. It gives him deep satisfaction, followed by a deep evil laugh. The more he loves you, the more fun he has at your expense. I speak from lots and lots of experience.

But karma is an interesting mistress. And she came to see John the other night in the form of Rick Springfield.



Our employer does several concerts in the summer and my husband helps oversees the security at these concerts. He has been doing them for years. He has meet B.B. King, Chris Isaacs, Isaac Hayes (for which he got a bruise from “Shaft“ himself), Bruce Hornsby, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Clay Akin, and Rev. Al Green. Even Robert Redford (not in a concert). None of these people phase him. As he says often “They put their pants on just like everybody else, Laura. Its no big deal.” I think that is why karma came in the form of Rick Springfield. He didn’t expect it.

Before the concert Rick Springfield‘s manager told John that Rick would be coming down into the audience during the song “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and needed security to follow him to ensure his safety. John was all over this like white on rice. Mission accepted.

Out comes Rick Springfield and the women go nuts. They have signs. They have bouquets of roses. They all try to give him their bouquets which he then strums with his electric guitar. The rose petals go everywhere and the women scream. I sure that there is some sexual meaning behind this, but I digress.

And there is John. Standing post at the base of the stairs leading from the stage. Not listening to the concert, just watching the audience. The only thing he is paying attention to is for “Don’t Talk to Strangers” begin.

Rick and the band begin “Don’t Talk to Strangers” and John is waiting for him to come down the stairs to make sure that he doesn’t fall.

He waits…….

and waits…………….

and waits……………………….

Then he feels something drip on his head.

(Cue karma)

John looks up and Rick Springfield is standing over him, smiling. With his 80s icon sweat dripping on John.

“Hey man!! What’s your name?”

John looks at him with a look of disbelief and says curtly “John.”

“Well, John, I need you to help me sing the chorus.”

“No.”

“Hey, women love it when guys sing! Your sure to get laid tonight!”

John looks at him. His answer still hadn’t changed.

“Why is it that all the big and tall security guys never want to sing and shirk running off.”

John digs in his heals.

“Audience, I’m going to need your help to get John to sing. Everybody tell John that he sucks. And flip him off too!”

Then 2,500 people proceed to tell my husband how much he sucks, all the while flipping him off.

“John, I’m going to ask one more time and if you don’t sing, I’m going to take off my pants and drop my jockeys.”

This puts the women into orbit and the chanting changes from “You suck, John!“ to “Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing! Don’t sing!”

John then looks over to his buddy Brad. Brad has an intent look on his face. They are both aware that these women could now rush the stage. Brad looks at John and says:

“You better sing like a f-ing songbird!”

And there with the spotlight on him, 2,500 people chanting his name, and Rick Springfield holding a microphone to his mouth, John takes a breath and says:

“Don’t talk to strangers.”

And karma went “Ch-ching.”