Oh geez, it was great. I was with my biz partner in the lobby, and he and I had done some pretty intense musical collaborations already, so we were discussing music and vitamins and product, totally buzzed when there's this huge commotion coming in through the front door and right up next us at the desk, so of course, we're game to check it out.
So, it's this tall, big haired guy (you remember hair bands?) with about 9 other people. He's got this glitter black and silver maxi coat and thick black eyeliner, all these rings and BANGLES and stuff, and he wants to check in to the hotel. So the desk clerk is asking for his name and he's saying "It's Whitesnake", three or four times.
The clerk is looking for the reservation, but it of course is under someone's name, the manager or something, but she can't find the res under Whitesnake and tells him so.
The commotion that ensues is funny. He turns PURPLE and starts to scream "Don't you know who the fuck I am, bitch" and runs into the lobby and tries to pick up a chair, but it's either bolted to the floor or too heavy for him, because he tries to pick it up, and then SCREAMS in pain and falls to the floor, clutching his back.
Jamie and I are speechless, and I'm all "I know that guy, I have his fucking first album" and he's writhing on the floor screaming.
Hilarious. They had a gig at Kenmore Square, at the Tea Party or some such, but they had to postpone that evenings gig to get Whitesnake to the hospital