NTKOG #72: The kind of girl who, heedless of not being invited, smarms, charms and bribes her way into events with closed guest lists.
I am: officially the antithesis of the sort of person who would be on any sort of guest list. Guest list = big-time yuck.
I am not: particularly the charmin’, smarmin’ type, even if I were actually motivated to crash events.
The Scene: Radio station concert situation at The Lansdowne Pub, featuring — googly cartoon heart eyes — my all-time favorite band, The Barenaked Ladies. Swooooon. (Guys, you cannot make fun of me about loving BnL. Absolutely cannot. The heart wants what the heart wants, and my heart wants Ed Robertson.) Sister let me know about the event on Thursday, and I’d not only been obsessively F5-ing Craigslist for invites, but actually participating in radio station call-in games too. Oh yeah. I had it bad. Unfortunately, all of the seventeen (17!) times I called the pub or radio station and begged, they told me the same thing: tickets are absolutely sold out and there’s no use asking anymore. Also: stop calling us.
But instead of just giving up — as old TKOG would have — tonight I stopped by the bank to pick up a crisp twenty for bouncer-bribin’ purposes, and glided down to Fenway to attempt to bribe my way into the show.
The event started at the old-mannish hour of 5pm, and by the time I got to the pub at 6:30, the other two acts were just about over. To my surprise, the only people clustered around the opening of the pub were a handful of smokers and one lone bouncer, inexplicably wearing a quite Dickensian hat.
TKOG: Hey, is this, uh, where the Barenaked Ladies thing is happening? Have they played yet?
Hulked-Out Bob Cratchit: It is. They haven’t gone on yet. I think Michelle Branch is still playing.
TKOG: Sweet. Is there any way I could, um, sneak in?
HOBC: Yeah, no problem. Hold on.
TKOG: Wait, what?! No. What? I had this — I had this whole thing worked out. I was going to be very persuasive.
HOBC: Okay…
TKOG: Well can I just run through it with you?
HOBC: Yeah, sure.
TKOG: See, I know they didn’t have tickets — it was just a guestlist, so you were going to say to me “Your name isn’t on the list,” and I was going to slip you a twenty and be like, “Maybe I can convince you to check again?” See, it was going to be like in the movies.
HOBC: Yeah, that might have worked. Sorry ’bout that. You still wanna give me the twenty?
TKOG: Well. I’m kind of broke, so… Thanks for letting me in! Totally appreciated!
At which point I sauntered in just in time to hear Michelle Branch sing an Aerosmith cover, and then see (four-fifths of) my all-time favorite band playing from TEN FEET AWAY!
Do or do you not see how insanely close I'm standing to Ed Robertson? Seriously, I was as close to them as I'd be if they were set up and playing in my apartment right now.
The Verdict: Um, can we talk about how supremely well this worked out? In the face of adversity, I just ignored everyone who told me what I didn’t want to hear, did what I wanted anyway, and IT ALL WORKED OUT. I ended up getting to see my favorite band from ten feet away completely for free and basically having a magical evening. Plus I got to have an awkward talk with a bouncer!
Goes to prove that old Woody Allen gem: 90% of success in life is just showing up. So. Next time I want to go somewhere and am told I can’t, I’m totes just going anyway, then asking politely once I get there. Mega win.
The only two bummers of the evening: 1) I didn’t get to bribe any burly dudes! I’m stashing that twenty in a special compartment in my purse, though, for the next time a palm needs to get greased; 2) my first time seeing a band I’ve been obsessed with for over a decade was only a few months after their brilliant lead singer, Steven Page, left the group. His specter was definitely felt, though: although the audience was pretty quiet, during the lines he traditionally sang during concerts back in the day, the audience all simultaneously belted, to cover, presumably, the sound of his absence and of our hearts, breaking.
Not That Kind of Girl 