And wait.
And wait some more.
Then I see a couple of little foot stools around, maybe a foot high. Well, I'm no clutz, despite my 41 years of age. I climb up, reach way up (I'm only 5-8) and get it down without a problem.
I play it for about 10 minutes and still no salesperson. So it's time to put it back.
I get back on the footstool, holding the tele with both hands by the bottom. I reach up and, just as I'm slotting the headstock into the hanger, I start to lose my balance and begin pitching forward.
All that flashed through my mind was me taking down a wall of a couple of dozen teles and strats, each with a minimum price tag of $1,000.
So with only a millimetre to go before I completely go arse over tea kettle, I manage to get the tele home and throw myself backwards off the stool away from the wall of guitars.
My fall was broken by a Matchless Avenger 2x12 combo. I landed on it on my back and rolled over on to the floor.
I look over and the pimply 17-year-old doing nothing but squealies and dive bombs on some Ibanez looks over and says, "Dude, are you okay?"
I mumbled something and scampered out, more embarrassed than I've been since I was an awkward teen.


There's also been the times when I turned on an amp without checking the master volume. I almost blew out the windows once with a Triple Rec.