This past June, one of my favorite (cover) bands Boyce Avenue announced that they would be touring Canada. Their concert date: October 19th, 2011. Back in June, this seemed like eons away. A few weeks later, the band announced that they would be selling Meet and Greet packages. *insert some kind of teenybopper emoticon*. So one can only imagine how many months I have been waiting for this. And now that the day finally came, there was just one glaring problem.
Date of the Meet and Greet/concert: October 19th, 2011
Date I broke my foot and was rendered house ridden for the next 6 weeks: October 14th, 2011
There were only two options put forth in front of me:
Option 1: Stay safely at home, lose the $65.00 I paid and have my friend Serena lose her $65.00 she paid. After all, nothing is worth the risk of falling down at the sound of piercing screams of prepubescent girls and breaking the other foot.
Option 2: Rent a wheelchair, put my foot in a bag and make poor Serena drive all the way in torrential rain down to the pond of DEATH (Lakeshore) just to meet 3 Puerto Rican boys.
I chose Option 2. Because I knew I would somehow find a way to kick myself in the ass with my good foot if I didn’t do this, and because I didn’t want Serena to lose her money, and because I wanted blog material.
Serena and I were scheduled to meet the band at around 6pm.
This evening of pure mayhem began at 3:30pm when Serena showed up at my door and managed to lug my 84 ton wheelchair into the car. I was safety seated in the car, we said a prayer and off we went.
I have to mention one thing about my friend Serena. She was just a trooper and so organized. For this mission she had like three different sets of directions on how to get to the venue, her direction-savy brothers were on speed dial and she had Red Hot Chili Peppers CDs in the car. PAR-TAY.
Since we got there gloriously early, we looked around the deserted area for any sign of life form (preferably human) to tell us where to go. We found a creepy-looking, cockeyed hot-dog vendor who looked like he would fallen asleep face first into the ketchup bottle had Serena not got there in time for an inquisition. The man looked clueless as to where even he was. That option abandoned, Serena went inside to see if anyone there would be able to tell her what to do. She came running back breathless.
“So?” I said.
“I talked to a spawn of satan-looking security guard” she replies.
“Did you tell satan you were here for the Boyce Avenue concert with an invalid?”
“Yes. He had no idea what I was talking about”
“Well, that’s no use”, I said disappointed.
We drove around the block for half an hour trying to kill time. When we did get back however, the parking lot had opened and the rain became heavier. With many struggles, I was mounted on the wheelchair. Serena pushed the wheelchair. It was my job to hold up the flaying umbrella for both of us in the torrential downpour without obstructing Serena’s view and also trying not to poke her in the eye with it.
The 45 minute wait outside was cold and uneventful. We were finally given passes and ushered into the warm inside where we eagerly waited to meet and greet Boyce Avenue. They finally came out and like an Old Testament miracle, there was a partition of the Sea of Estrogen as the little girls said to me “Go on hun, you can go first!”
Damn straight I can go first. Move aside, chickas.
The BA boys all bent down to give me hug. They signed my t-shirt and posed for a bunch of photos. Compared to the crazy mission it took to get here, this almost seemed anti-climatic. After this anti-climatic meet and greet, we were ushered into the main concert hall where a section had been blocked off for all the invalids and their caregivers/wheelchair pushers.
Serena bought a shirt while we watched the opening acts set up. It felt like the night had already hit its peak at the Meet and Greet. And everything all of a sudden felt tiring after that. Green River Ordinance (you won’t believe how long it took me to remember that whole name…in its proper sequence) was one of the opening acts. They said they were from Texas. But they sounded Australian and looked like they stepped out from an indie chic neighborhood in Prague.
“I LOVE YOU G.R.O!!!”, some crazy girl who had never heard of them before that night screamed.
“I love you too darlin’. You don’t mind if I call you darlin’ do you? Its how we do in Texas”.
At all the piercing screams that followed, my eardrum could have shattered and all its tiny pieces could have landed on everyone like confetti and no one would have cared or noticed.
“Sounds like that chick just ovulated all over herself” observed Serena.
I nodded in agreement.
I also agreed that they were a good-looking band. And they were so close to where my wheelchair was parked. I whispered to Serena. “pssst, we should try and get them to talk to us. Tell them it’s the dying wish of your invalid friend.”
After all, what use is a broken foot if you can’t use it to get wannabe rockstars to park their drum kits next to your wheelchair….right?
Serena agreed and tried. But security (spawn of satan guy) prevailed and ruined it for us.
We stayed an hour into the Boyce Avenue portion and then tried to leave since I needed to pee and we were both starving. The spawn of satan security guard fittingly led us to the wheelchair obstacle course from hell. We battled through rain and storm, cutting through thick levels of female hormones and trying not to topple over steep, potholed ramps just to get out of there.
Then, after driving for miles and miles and miles trying to find a place to eat open at 11:00 at night and making several illegal u-turns, we finally settled into Milestones for water and appetizers.
We did end up getting home safely…wheelchair, crutches, foot in plastic bag all intact.
And that my friends, is the story of how Serena and I went to a concert in the rain with my broken foot in a bag for a night of wheelchair madness with beautiful musicians and their drum kits and banjos, spawns of satan cockblocking us, ending up with Asian chicken drumettes and finally popping a percocet and ending it on a high note (literally).