
I worked in the warehouse, prepping for delivery. One of our drivers was a biker named Spider Mike. He looked every bit the part of a big leather jacket biker.
Mike got the delivery to Bon Jovi. At the time, Bon Jovi was at the absolute peak of his career—there were girls camped out in front of his gates every single day just for a glimpse of him. When Mike finally got back to the warehouse, we all asked how it went and if he was there.
He told us they were met by a personal assistant who was, frankly, an asshole. The house was filled with pristine white carpet, and the assistant watched the delivery crew like a hawk. They were forced to lay down moving blankets, take off their shoes, and finish the job in their socks. To top it off, after all that extra work, the guy signed the paperwork and didn't offer a single cent as a tip.
Annoyed and looking for a little payback, Mike asked to use the restroom before leaving. While inside, he took off his own underwear. Leaving they stopped to talk to the girls outside. He sold the underwear to one of them claiming he’d swiped them straight from Bon Jovi’s hamper.
I ran into Mike years later and asked if that story was actually true. He got a distant, nostalgic look in his eye and said, “I just like to think that somewhere, there’s a girl with my underwear under her pillow, convinced it belongs to Bon Jovi”.
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