I thought I was going to come back tonight and write a little something about how awesome Hey Marseilles was with their stage full of instruments. But instead I came home early after one of those monday's that I would much prefer to forget about. Obviously it was an awkward one.
While I was on the train I figured I should move my ID and cash to a front pocket so that when i got to the venue I wouldn't have to open my purse, thus revealing the Jim Beam flask to the guy at the door (I don't drink it at the venue btw, just if I decide to go out afterwards, or in case I need to use it to make friends with a band in a back alley, you know all the usual reasons to carry a flask). "Way to think ahead, Jessica!" I congratulated myself, because all too often I don't think ahead. At that very moment, during the 6pm rush hour, in the middle of a subway car, my spaghetti strap dress decided it was tired of being sewn together. And right in front of everyone, the strap combusted, letting the front of my dress fall down revealing the sheer, as in see-through, bra I was wearing. I was still too busy feeling proud about packing the purse, thinking ahead, and actually showing up early to purchase a ticket to realize what had just happened and continued bopping my head along to some jam that I was really enjoying. Of course when everyone in a confined space was staring at me, I figured I should look at me too. When I realized what happened I turned so red that I started sweating. It was mortifying would be an understatement. A very kind woman angel helped me tie the frayed strap to my bra after watching me squirm around in an awkward 'I am trying to touch my right shoulder blade with my right hand and tie a knot kind of way'. Letting a stranger on a train help me was kind of a big deal since I have issues with strangers on trains touching me, I still can't believe I accepted the lady's help, I must have been in shock. When I got to my stop, I sprinted off the train, but while going through the turnstiles a man old enough to be my father turned to me and said with a straight face, "Thanks for the show."
Once a few blocks away from the scene of the combustible strap, I calmed down, laughed at myself and felt better. I took out my phone to call my friend to relay the latest awkward adventure. Naturally, the phone goes in the same pocket where my id and cash went. But not noticing anything, I called my friend and continued walking to the venue. When I showed up at T.T. the Bears, the doors were not open at 6:30 like they said they would be and instead there was a note that read "Hey Marseilles show cancelled." No explanation, no nothing. I checked twitter to see if any of the venues or Hey Marseilles themselves had updated information on where they were. For a hot second I thought the band probably wanted to spend another night in New York and ditched this small time venue where their 7 person band can barely cram themselves onto the small stage. I cursed this first monday of the month and realized this was just the type of year 2010 was turning out to be and headed home.
Don't worry the story doesn't end there. I get home and check twitter and the venues again, because at least I can maybe change and get back on the subway headed somewhere. I find out that Hey Marseilles now gets to play at Ryan's Smashing Life shin dig over on the other side of town. (Of course his life is smashing he gets to host the band I want to see instead of hustling all over Boston, flashing people, trying to get to figure out where this concert is). If the Hey Marseilles concert had ended early I was already planning on going over there later anyways. Perfect, right? I change, still don't have time to eat anything except for a pudding cup, I check my purse on the way out and alas, NO ID. I sit on the floor and dump the contents of my purse out. No ID anywhere. I've never lost an ID or anything that goes in my purse in my life, NEVER. This is absurd. But unfortunately, the case on my phone likes to stick to things, especially plastic things, and when I took it out to make a call it must of stuck to the back and dropped to the ground somewhere in Central Square. I called Great Scott twice in fact to see if there was anything I could bring other than an ID to get in. The guy on the phone laughed and said, "umm like your cat?" I said, "I understand, I don't have my passport, but I have other stuff." The guy informed me that a state ID would be best. I looked through my other wallet and called back excited saying I had a Swiss ID with my birthdate and picture on the back. The guy said, "Sorry, it has to be an ID from the US." So at that point I quit, put on my comfy pants, cursed the jim beam flask and then threw it out the window. Not really actually, but I wanted to. If I had not been such a robot packing my concert purse, I would have not put the Jim Beam in, meaning I would not have had to move my ID to another pocket, and it never would have been lost in that other world that we know as Cambridge.
Now if you made it to the end of this, you are a hero, because that was absurdly long. And for that I will give you the song that is playing through my speakers at this very moment. I will also add that after all that I think Great Scott should give me a ring or a little tweet-a-roo saying, "you totally deserve to be here tonight, and bring that adorable little Swiss ID too." These are the little things that make me laugh as embarrassing as they may be, I want other people to laugh about it too.
Important note: I don't write this for sympathy or in a poor-me voice, I write this because it happened and for it to be less awkward for me, I write about it. And I am laughing while I post it because it is aburd to think that this might actually get me into a concert venue tonight hosted by another boston music blogger (Ryan help an up and coming blogger/fellow music lover out? cough cough) tonight, but I can hope. Seriously, just laugh at me, I do it at least once every day. It feels good. Feel sorry for me and I will punch you, but not really, I can't even throw Jim Beam out a window.