By Sammy, Emotionally Unstable Frontwoman of Knife in the Dark (Currently Somewhere in the Frozen Wastelands of Newfoundland) 🚽
🎤 LET’S BE REAL, LIFE ON TOUR AIN’T ALL GLORY AND EXPLODING AMPS. Sometimes, between the sweat-soaked gigs and the questionable gas station sushi, you just gotta… feel things. And sometimes, those feelings are less “headbangin’ fury” and more “existential dread mixed with the lingering scent of stale beer and human waste.” That’s where the humble porta-potty comes in. It’s not glamorous, but honey, it’s private. Mostly.
This ain’t a guide to faking tears for dramatic effect (though I’ve been known to dab a little stage blood for a particularly angsty ballad). This is about the real, gut-wrenching, snot-bubble-inducing kind of crying that hits you when you least expect it, usually somewhere between a truck stop in Saskatchewan and a venue with questionable plumbing.
📍 LOCATION CHECK: Currently somewhere in St. John’s, Newfoundland. The wind is howling like a banshee, the ocean looks like it’s about to swallow the entire island, and I just finished a soundcheck where my monitor sounded like a dying seagull. Prime crying conditions, frankly.
🛠️ STEP 1: FINDING YOUR CRY CUBICLE (THE QUEST FOR SEMI-PRIVACY)
- The Festival Fortress: Ah, the classic. Rows upon rows of blue plastic. Pick one that’s furthest from the stage and preferably downwind. The ambient noise of a thousand metalheads might actually muffle your sobs. Maybe.
- The Backstage Bastion: Sometimes, if you’re lucky (or the headliner has truly appalling hygiene), there’s a lone porta-potty lurking backstage. This is prime real estate. Treat it with respect. It might be your sanctuary for the next hour.
- The Highway Oasis (Avoid If Possible): Those roadside relics? Desperate times, my friend. Desperate times. The smell alone might trigger a fresh wave of despair. Plus, the door might not lock. Trust no one when you’re at your most vulnerable.
⚠️ PRO TIP: Always check for toilet paper before you start. Tears plus no TP equals a truly biblical level of misery. Maybe stash a travel pack in your gig bag. You know, for emergencies. Emotional or otherwise.
😭 STEP 2: THE PRE-CRY RITUAL (SETTING THE MOOD FOR MAXIMUM SADNESS)
- The Trigger: This could be anything. A text from your estranged cat, a bad review, realizing you’ve been wearing the same socks for three days, the sheer overwhelming loneliness of being a screaming banshee in a world that mostly wants pop songs. Embrace it. Let it fester.
- The Sigh: A deep, shuddering sigh is the gateway drug to a full-blown meltdown. Let it out. Feel the weight of the universe pressing down on your soul.
- The Stare: Fix your gaze on something truly depressing. The questionable graffiti, the overflowing… contents, your own reflection in the warped plastic. It all adds to the ambiance.
🗣️ STEP 3: UNLEASHING THE FLOODGATES (THE ART OF THE UGLY CRY)
- The Silent Sob: Sometimes, you just need a few quiet tears to roll down your face. This is the “I’m trying to be a functional adult but failing” cry. Respectable.
- The Full Throttle Wail: This is when the dam breaks. Gasps, hiccups, the whole damn orchestra of despair. Don’t hold back. Let it rip. The porta-potty walls have heard worse. Probably.
- The Snot Symphony: Look, it happens. Embrace the snot. It’s a physical manifestation of your inner turmoil. Just try not to wipe it on the door handle. For the sake of humanity.
🤫 TOUR SECRET: Sometimes, humming a really depressing song (quietly, so you don’t alert the masses) can amplify the sadness. Bonus points for anything in a minor key.
🎭 STEP 4: THE POST-CRY AFTERMATH (RE-ENTERING THE REAL WORLD)
- The Assessment: Take a deep breath (if the air quality allows). How bad is the damage? Red eyes? Puffy face? Snot mustache? Plan accordingly.
- The Cover-Up: Sunglasses are your best friend. So is a strategically placed baseball cap. If you have access to water, a quick splash might help. If not, well, own the raw, emotional look. It’s kinda metal, in a weird way.
- The Re-Entry: Emerge slowly. Scan the area for witnesses. If anyone asks, blame allergies. Or say you were just really moved by the local… scenery.
🖤 STEP 5: LEARNING FROM THE MELTDOWN (TURNING TEARS INTO TRIUMPH… MAYBE)
- The Reflection: Sometimes, a good cry in a confined space can actually be cathartic. You let it all out. You feel a little lighter. Maybe.
- The Fuel: Channel that sadness into your performance. That raw emotion? That’s what makes the music real. Turn your pain into power chords.
- The Acceptance: Look, tour life is weird. You’re away from home, living on fumes and adrenaline, surrounded by sweaty dudes and questionable catering. Crying in a porta-potty is just part of the experience. Embrace the absurdity.
📍 CURRENT MOOD: Still a little windswept and seagull-monitor traumatized, but the thought of a greasy Newfoundland poutine is keeping the tears at bay… for now.
🚽🎤 PS: IF YOU SEE A BLUE PLASTIC SHAKING UNCONTROLLABLY AT THE NEXT KNIFE IN THE DARK SHOW, JUST KNOW I’M EITHER HAVING A MOMENT OR THE BASS IS REALLY KICKING. MAYBE BOTH. 🎤🚽
