Something you might not know about me is that before I had a real job, I used to follow bands on their tours, or at least drive stupid distances to see them. One band that I did this for a lot is Locksley.
I met Locksley in the fall of 2007 when they were opening for...another band (more on that in another blog). I went to seven or eight shows on that tour, and at some point I met the guys from Locksley and hung out at their merch table enough that they were forced to remember me. Myspace was still relevant back then (side note: it's kind of unbelievable how fast Myspace became irrelevant?), and after the tour ended I traded a few messages with their bass player on there and we developed a bit of a friendship.
At some point after the tour I'd met them on, I'd seen them maybe once or twice since then playing one-off gigs in New York City. I somehow ended up with the bassist's phone number, which only served to further my obsession and fuel my desire to see their gigs.
I was living in the middle of Pennsylvania at the time. So, you know:
I should qualify that I actually did this all the time back then, sometimes even longer distances, for other bands besides Locksley. But still.
At some point in the winter of 2007-2008, they announced a one-off gig in New York at a venue called the Hawaiian Tropic Zone, which is kind of like an upscale Luau-themed Hooters on Times Square. The cover that night was just $10 and included a complimentary drink, so I reasoned that the $80 I would spend in gas was totally worth it. I didn't know how right I would turn out to be.
I arrived at the gig early. I got a metered parking space on the street immediately outside of the venue. (In Times. Fucking. Square. I have this uncanny ability to find legal street parking in places where you shouldn't be able to. Taylor Swift got her voice; I got this.) I went inside and began consuming my free beer. I was nervous because I had sent a text message to the bassist earlier in the week saying I was coming and he hadn't responded, probably because he didn't really care, but rather than consider apathy, I was worried he might have been mad at me for some inexplicable reason. When I am nervous, especially about social situations, I have a tendency to...get really drunk.
To make a long story less long, I had the luck to sit down next to a guy who was traveling on business and whose company was comping all his expenses, including alcohol. We got to chatting and he ordered me another drink or four. I don't really remember. Also, somewhere in the middle there, Locksley showed up and found me at the bar to say hello. The bassist offered to bring me one of their free beers from backstage. Just as they were about to take the stage, I ordered an extra drink before rushing to the front of a crowd of maybe 15 people with two drinks in hand. I'd had something like eight drinks or more all told, in a span of maybe three hours.
The rest of the night is something of a blur. I took something like 96 photos of their 30 minute set. (Later, when I was trying to understand what was going on in the photos, a girl I met online who had been in that crowd of 15 with me informed me that in the middle of the set, the power went out and the band led the crowd in a singalong of the Star-Spangled Banner. I have no memory of this whatsoever.) I'm fairly certain that the other 14 people in the crowd hated me and I probably spilled beer on all of them and scream-sang in all their ears, though I was unaware of it at the time. I'm only assuming this because that's what drunks do. I vaguely remember going to a bathroom in the basement, presumably after their set was over, and vomiting and getting vomit on my scarf. There was also a prolonged exchange where I sat with the bassist and kept trying to compliment him on the largeness of his eyes while he vigorously denied having large eyes.
At some point, the entire venue was empty and everyone was leaving and I was far too wasted to even contemplate driving. My car was parked out front (in my rockstar parking space) and there were of course parking restrictions in the morning. I also drove a stick shift, which nobody really knew how to drive!
Finally, one of the crew who lived in Brooklyn volunteered to drive me and my car to his house and let me sleep in his apartment. If only my mom could see me now! Getting tucked into my passenger seat by a big-eyed bass player and handing the keys to a complete stranger whose qualifications amounted to "ability to drive stick shift" and willingly going back to his home in Brooklyn without anyone I knew!
Did I also mention above that I had class at 11am the next day? And I was giving a presentation in it? And it was a 4.5-hour drive back? Because those were all true things.
I don't really remember much about the rest of the night. The guy did not rape me and gave me a blanket and a couch. I threw up in his bathroom probably multiple times during the night, and then left at about 6am without waking him and somehow navigated my way (WITHOUT a GPS) out of New York and back home.
I pulled into the school parking lot at 10:40am, with just enough time to catch the shuttle to campus and get to class on time to give an outstanding presentation on Max Weber's Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft before going directly home and sleeping for six hours.
EPILOGUE: More than a year later, I was following Locksley on yet another tour. At a show in Philadelphia, I was re-introduced to their manager. He looked at me for a second, and then I saw recognition flicker in his eyes. I thought it was because I had been to so many shows, but no. "You're the girl who got really wasted at Little Stephen's Underground Garage!" he exclaimed.
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