Life Caters To The Adventurous

They say the best things in life are unplanned. Now this statement really didn’t have any personal relation to my life until I was sitting in my room on a summer night trolling twitter. I happened to be stalking some random girl’s twitter (never met her before) when I came across one of her tweets about an upcoming concert for the musician my best friend and I had been jamming to all summer. Baffled that I hadn’t heard this guy was touring, I googled the information. He was playing in Boston, at the Middle East, the next night. The show was sold out. I screenshotted the info and sent it to my best friend. Jokingly, but not jokingly, we said we would go into Boston and attempt to get in. We figured even if we don’t get in, it will still be a great night because well, it’s Boston.

So came the next day. My friend would pick me up at 5 and we’d be on our way. Who knows if it was the constant high that comes with summer or our sheer optimism that made us convinced we’d get in. We arrived in Boston. The sun was still up, the air was warm, and the city was alive. Now keep in mind, all the upcoming minor details are crucial in the end of the story. Our GPS said the Middle East was a mile away, less than five minutes. Ecstatic that we were so close, we dumbly parked in some random parking garage not realizing that a five minute car ride is a twenty minute walk. We were already late and had NO intentions of walking that far. As we start walking and laughing at our stupidity, a pedicab rolls up beside us and offers us a ride. We hop on the back of the bike, feeling like royalty as we stroll through the streets of Boston. We arrived at the venue in five minutes and since pedicabs run off tips, we gave the guy $6.

The place is bumping. You could feel the energy from outside. We accidently went to the wrong door, where a 20 something year old guy smoking a cigarette asked if we were looking for “_____”. We laughed and said yes, but we didn’t have tickets. He tells us he’s the sound technician and said he could probably get us in. Trying to remain cool, we followed him to the correct door. The bouncers were strict and not letting anyone past that door without a ticket. You could clearly hear and see how packed it was inside. Mike, the sound guy, made us a deal: if two people get kicked out, we could go in. Basically crying with joy, we agreed to the offer. So, because the Middle East is also a restaurant, we ate dinner while we waited. In total we paid $10. Just as we’re finishing up, two guys, drunk off their asses, come up to our table ranting about how they can’t believe they just got kicked out.

Mike looks us with a developing grin as he says, “Looks like you’re getting in.” He brings us to the door and tells the guy we’re all set, we get wrist bands and we are inside the concert. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Laughing at how lucky that was, we shoved our way through the crowd. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and the aroma of weed, we danced along to the opening acts. All of a sudden, two GIANT guys stand in front of us. Not kidding when I say giant, like over six feet tall. We couldn’t see a thing. We couldn’t get thaaaat mad considering we didn’t even have tickets. Weirdly enough, one of the giants turns around and looks down at our 5 ft bodies. He realizes we probably couldn’t see a thing and tells us to go stand by his friend with the hat. The hat guy ended up being front row and somehow we squeezed our way so we were touching the right side of the stage.

We scream as “_____” comes on the stage. We were SO close. The place was out of control; there is something about those small venues that just make concerts ten times better. We still can’t get over the fact that we 1. Got into the show and 2. Somehow made it to the front row, when all of a sudden the group of girls occupying the very front and center of the stage abruptly decided to leave. We immediately slid over. Front and center, we jammed to our summer anthem as we laughed at the series of events that just occurred.

The show ends, and the venue clears out. It was a summer night; we had nothing to do in the morning or a curfew to get home to, so we decided to wait in hopes of meeting the performers. We see his producer walk out from back stage, so we (obviously) ask for a picture and make small talk about the tour, casual. We ask if there’s any way we could meet “_______.” He laughs and yells onto the stage, “hey “_____”” these girls want to meet you. We do everything in our power to remain “cool” as we casually greet him on stage. Again, we take a picture, because let’s be real, who wouldn’t? In his raspy voice from singing all night, he tells us how cute we are and that we should come to an after party with them. We looked at each other with that “YOLO” look and agreed.

We followed him and the producer through the back room and entered the restaurant. They put together tables and we sat around with some other girls and the rest of the band. The producer sits next to me and “______” sits next to my friend. “_____” buys everyone a round of patron. Keep in mind: our car is in some random parking garage a mile away. Let’s progress forward some. The producer kissed me, and my friend was on “_____”‘s  lap. They tell us we should go to the hotel with them. Yolo became our mantra. Because it was summer, our carefree attitude took over.

We both ended up hooking up with them in their tour van. When the rest of the members got to the van, we took off. We directed them to where our car was parked and we figured we’d just follow them to the hotel. My friend gets out the van and runs into the parking garage. I see her talking to a security guard and fear begins to spread though my body. She runs back into the van with a huge smile on her face. The security guard told her she looked like a nice girl having a good time and he stamped her parking ticket so we wouldn’t have to pay a dime in the morning. He said it was a “one-time thing”. Free parking in Boston just doesn’t happen, so again, we were on cloud nine.

We get to the hotel and the four of us shared a room. Morning came much too quickly, and we said our goodbyes. We did the greatest walk of shame to the T station and died of laughter as we were baffled by the whole situation. In total we paid $23 dollars in Boston for one of the GREATEST and unplanned nights of our lives. For weeks we couldn’t stop listening to their music. And to this day, we still occasionally talk to both of them. I really think all the good karma that was owed our way was delivered to us that night.