It was the fall of 1999, and I was at a beautiful old central Texas dancehall (now closed) that was near San Antonio, off of Evans Road, called Cibilo Creek Country Club. I had just played the CD release show for my second album with my band in the old wooden building. The place was originally called Luxello Hall.
After we finished the gig, I walked over to a table where I had set out copies of my new CD and a mailing list signup.
A guy in his twenties came up and said, “Good job. I enjoyed the show.”
I said thanks, and then he said, “Hey, I’ve got to be honest with you…”
I said “Yeah, sure, what it is it?” He had my attention.
“The last time you played here, a few months ago, I was at the show, and you had set your CDs down on this table and then you turned around to talk to somebody. And I took one.”
He looked me in the eye, and I realized he meant that he had stolen a copy of the CD I had on the merch table that night a few months ago. He continued:
“And it’s really good. That CD, what was it’s title? General Store. Yeah, that album is really good.”
I said, “Thanks, wait, let me get this straight. You’re saying: the last time I played here, you stole one of my CDs off of the table, and you’re telling me that you’re glad you did?”
He shrugged and said, “Yeah man, you got me. I’m a fan. How much is your new CD?”
I looked down at the merch table at the new CD, and then looked back at the guy.
“The new CD is thirty dollars.”
And he bought one.
