Saturday night Sue and I had the worst seats in the house. Front row, house left. We were two feet from the wall in front of us and a tower of speakers, well, towered over us. We couldn’t see s**t.
I don’t know if you, gentle reader, remember, but I got the last two tickets for this concert. Twenty-nine bucks. Remember? I called Sue from the box office and she said, “For twenty-nine bucks, honey, go for it.”
The Heartless Bastards opened the show, and Sue and I listened to most of their set from the upstairs rotunda. You can’t bring beer into the theater, and at $8 a cup, we weren’t just going to chuck them when the show started. Sue and I, in our inestimable way, just shrugged and made our own fun.
Partway through The Heartless Bastards’ set we made for our seats, and that’s when we realized just how bad they were. So we listened to the music and looked at the crowd. Check that. We laughed at the crowd. Concerts in Boston can be so funny. You just see this sea of white faces sitting quietly in their chairs, staring, looking for all the world like they’re in their living rooms watching television.
At intermission, I’m not sure how this happened, but Sue and I were coming back from the bathrooms to our seats and we both just intuitively walked through this door and up these stairs next to our seats. We found ourselves upstairs in the side boxes. Where we watched the entire concert. We started talking to this one woman sitting there who was with her long-time friend and they were just like, “sure, why don’t you just hang out here?” Sue and I, for the second time that night, just shrugged and said, what the hell, and they actually let Sue and me sit for awhile while they took off and later came back and were dancing out in the hallway.
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