William Beckett Goes Fanboy For…Febreze!

Travel-Sized Febreze

That’s right. Portable. Travel Sized. Febreze.

Honestly, this is a first for me. After a decade of touring; well, not just touring… I’m talking about playing six shows a week for 6 weeks in a row with 6 pairs of socks and 8 pairs of underwear, all the while wearing DRESS SHOES in DRESS SOCKS. Things can get a little, let’s say, stuffy. Okay, I won’t mince words; stinky asshit. Enter the loveliest spray bottle product ever invented since the bloody squirt gun: (I mean, come on… SUPER SOAKERS?!?!)

Ladies and gents, I present FEBREZE.

Now instead of rolling into a town,jumping out of my bunk aka “traveling coffin”, and stepping into the stench of eleven band guys and their filthy, unwashed, man-sweat stained undies polluting the premises with a putrid penile-punch that could put Floyd Mayweather Jr. on his posterior, I have Febreze. Just a couple of pumps from that baby blue bottle top and we’re transported to fucking Bed Bath and Beyond. I love it. And that’s why I just recently started bringing it out on tour.

Why do I bring this up at the moment, you ask? Two words: Airplanes.(Yes, yes, I know its one word…) And what happens on airplanes? 30,000 feet in the air, trapped in a pressurized metal tube with 200+ people and nowhere to run?

Let’s take a look at this:

People are usually exhausted and you’re no exception. You have to deal with check-in lines and security lines and x-ray machines that take pictures of your bedroom parts, then walk a mile to Gate G17 with your roller bag that has that shitty,squeaky wheel,stubbornly stalling your progress like a hung jury… At this point you’re super stressed so you go have a $12 Margarita Presidente at the Chili’s next to your gate,buying you some time because of course your plane is delayed, but you sit next to a Chatty Charlie that is spilling his life story, bragging about a band he used to sing for…(Ok, wait a minute… not me. I drink whiskey, we all know that…)

Moving on. Then when your flight finally starts boarding you’re more stressed out than you were before and now you’re waiting for your group number to be called because let’s face it, we all fly coach. Then when you finally get to your seat and your shitty, squeaky roller bag with the stubborn, stall-tactic wheel is ready to finally, at long last, find its home in the overhead compartment… That sucker’s FULL. Now you’re holding up the line as everyone else slowly realizes that all their roller bags indiscriminately will not fit whether they be Wal-Mart or Bang & Olufsen. Everyone’s tired, and sweaty, and stinky, and angry. And when they finally get to sit down and that plane pulls out of gate G17 and you see that living hell of an airport get smaller & smaller & smaller from your window seat view… Simultaneously, like clock-work, Everybody slips off their shoes, and in the time it takes to flare a nostril, 400 sweaty-socked hooves are KICKIN’.

But your’s aren’t. Nope. Not today. Why? Two words: Febreze.

And that’s what I go Fanboy for.

– WILLIAM BECKETT www.thewilliambeckettblog.com