except this time.
so i try to find someone to go with; a last-minute date on a work night, someone who really likes jack antonoff and his music. i come up short, and therein begins an four-hour debate with myself about whether or not i attempt this concert thing by myself.
the general consensus from work people and family people is that i should go. i ask facebook people, and their replies are similar. "fuck yeah!" seems to be a common response.
i decide to do it.
i leave school without my phone. after retrieving it and leaving again, i realize i have left the only piece of clothing that can possibly make me feel somewhat appropriate to this endeavor: my faux leather jacket. i rush back and get that too.
let me also say that the doors open at 8pm, but that i have a conference call set for 7pm regarding one of my students. it is a call filled with all kinds of therapists, parents, and teachers; one that will require me to use my teacher brain and voice and words to foster the discussion.
so i run home, telling alex that i will not enter my house, but that he must meet me in the driveway with the phone charger. i pull up to see my family dancing in the driveway for me. they are so proud of me! they think i'm awesome, driving into hollywood on a thursday night to see a band by myself! they make me feel really good.
i stop at whole foods and get a crappy-ass burrito and a wonderful holiday-themed peppermint stick dark chocolate bar. i start the drive into the city.
at 7 pm i illegally dial the call-in number for the conference; and approximately 7 minutes later as the psychologist is about to give the official diagnosis i am driving past highland and the call is dropped. after dialing back in, i try to glean what the good word is from context. i am trying to navigate and listen at the same time.
it's all a wee bit absurd.
i turn onto sunset boulevard and i see the venue. there is a bright yellow fiat or something outside, all lit up with lights and a couple lines of people who look really happy to be there. i find an outstanding parking spot and sit and listen to the conference call. it is in-depth and thoughtful. i am listening intently, while staring at the clock, thinking about the inevitability of me leaving my car and joining that line of people outside the place.
i put my key in my tiny zipper pocket of my jacket, my license in my back pocket, my lipstick on --because it is the only weapon i have to protect me-- and i head out.
when i get into the VIP line i'm still on the phone, trying desperately to muffle the sounds of sunset blvd. in the background. i am checked in by a nice young woman. i am standing in front of two nice young men, and surrounded by many nice young people looking at their phones.
i am 15 years younger than most of these people. i have on bigger clothes than most of these people. i have more children than most of these people. i have less money, less credibility, more stretch marks, and more solid footwear than most of these people.
i am also wearing my docs. i forgot. weapons on the feet and face.
we wrap up the call. there is gratitude for the collaboration, for the upcoming work we will do together to support the child. it's too bizarre, standing outside, having this discussion while limos drop off important-looking people in front of me.
i am caught between two worlds: one i know really well and the other i'm trying to date, but just for tonight.
the line starts moving and we head inside.
everyone's hair looks really good.
i feel the corporate sponsors' presence.
i imagine the music being played in front of me.
it is now 8:40. i am sitting on a huge couch by myself, with a free rolling stone magazine in my hand. i try to read, but the lights are red and low and i don't have my glasses. i. don't. have. my. glasses. see that young man above? he is without his glasses as well, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him because he probably does not need them yet.
i sit there and try to look casual. i imagine that people are seeing me and thinking that maybe i am a seasoned music critic for an online magazine, or maybe one of rolling stone's old stand-by journalists.
i do not belong to anyone else there. there is no one i know, or can relate to. i start to feel like i'm going to cry, which makes me chuckle softly to myself.
i get up, look for the bathroom, which takes me downstairs. i peek into a corridor where the band has a dressing room, and see two other band names (unknown to this music critic) on the other doors. i hang a left and hit the women's bathroom and as i pee i know that i am on my way home.
i grab my free magazine and head out, brushing past smoking hipsters, fancy music execs (I assume) and very, very pretty women. i leave through the VIP stanchions and brush past fancy-pants people--past the 20s-themed bar next door where the flapper and her boyfriend are entering--round the corner past the homeless woman on her couch and into my car, where i phone my people and tell them that i have failed.
i failed! i am full of shame! i am crying from embarrassment! i feel stupid!
i talk to myself on the drive home and reason that common sense has won, that bleachers wouldn't have gone on until 10:30 or so, that i wouldn't have gotten home until after 1 am, that i was so far out of my comfort zone that i could give myself a ticket out of there without judgment.
but man, i felt like an asshole.
i did feel so brave, trying this on for size tonight. doing something that was so out of character--bold and brazen and alive. but it didn't fit me. it really didn't fit me. i didn't look good in VIP-event attire.
i look much better in my pajamas and cozy socks, at home with my people.
goddamnit, though, i really wanted to post pictures of up close shots of the band, and be able to tell you all that i rocked it. but i didn't.
in the end, it was just me in a pleather jacket, biding my time until i could escape.
No comments:
Post a Comment