Well, about three years back, this story came up when we were talking both about our callow youth and also great instrument disasters. In Rick's own words:

Each of my 12 strings has its own little memory but the worst was "Pedro" the Mexican built beauty that I bought when I was about twenty. The salesman said it was built to be tuned to pitch and I foolishly believed him. Now the problem was that my girlfriend at the time felt (justifiably so) that we should be saving our money, so when I purchased "Pedro" I snuck him into a closet for the night, planning to tell her about it the next day.(after I had thought up some story to justify my purchase) About 5 am a noise like a bazooka woke everyone up with a start in our communal rooming house. People were searching everywhere for the source of the explosion...but in my heart I knew what it was. I let someone else find the broken pieces of wood and wire, but I had to own up to it. Needless to say I got yelled at, AND lost Pedro one day after buying him!

I loved the story because I could just see waking up and knowing what it was and then trying to go back to sleep and ignore it.

Spaw