Boston, MA
“Yo Roy, why aren’t you at work?”
“I quit, I found another job” came the nonchalant reply through the company’s landline. There was an almost unbearable tumbleweed silence before he went on. “I’m working across the street actually, but I don’t go in for a few hours, so I got to sleep in duuude.” He was already playfully ribbing me with vague details while I was reeling from the brunt of the news.
“You’re leaving Enterprise to work at Midas?” it didn’t make sense. This job was cush, and we gang of car washers had formed a more perfect, though informal, union together, where we could spend a large part of the day cruising around Boston in our pick of the lot. The volvo S90’s were nice, but my surprising favorite was the GMC Safari. Something about the high bucket seat and low wheel made one feel like a sea captain…but I digress. “What the fuck?”
“No man, not Midas” he said with a laugh. “I landed a spot at the Paradise.”
Now this was big news. The Paradise rock club is a premiere spot to see live music and it just so happened there was a show this very evening that all the boys were coming down to see. The place had two entrances, and this layout would be important later. The left entrance opened to an isolated vestibule, with another door 10 feet in, stationed by a doorman checking IDs. This gained access to the front bar that Roy would be working the early shift at, the Paradise lounge. The bar was dark. In fact, the whole place was dark. Even the outside was painted black, without billboards or neon lights, or even memorable windows. A giant marquee showcased the headliners of the next show above the sidewalk, jutting out from the two sides to form a shallow isosceles triangle. Currently, in bold black block font, “The Music” and below that “Ambulance” and the date in smaller lettering “Feb 22”. Behind the front bars’ back wall was the main venue area; a big open, yet cozy room with intimate views of the stage from everywhere. Another bar lived back there, open to the general admission floor during concert events. The main act is viewed mainly by a standing room only crowd, with a limited selection of balcony seating as well.
If you are at the Paradise to see a show, the line forms in front of the right doors, with temporary velvet delineators set up to push the queue down the sidewalk. The right double doors open to a long corridor that disappears into darkness. This is the main highway to get to the back. You pass a door on the left that connects to the rear of the front lounge about halfway down, and at the 2/3rds waypoint, there is a highchair station for monitoring wrist bands. Once you reach the end, you turn left and are confronted with the beauty of the palely lighted auditorium emphasized by a bands light and smoke show. When had Roy even interviewed for this job? “Typical Roy”, I thought, “man of curiosity and impulse”. He’d be working his first shift during the day, then returning at night as a patron to see the show.
Up that hill from Packard’s corner, our yellow apartment in the sky was buzzing with excitement. It was a convenient spot to pre-game. One must wonder how many times the downstairs landlord Shlomi, regretted renting to so many college-aged kids. He was basically hosting his own version of MTV’s The Real World. The five-bedroom, upper rental had on average seven residents, each with profound social lives, partners, and hobbies. Hobbies such as playing electric guitar and bass, involved video game tournaments, and drinking; with all the mayhem that goes along with it. The belief that the deposit was coming back had long been abandoned multiple wine stains and cigarette burns ago. This landlord and his family lived in the downstairs portion of the duplex, a fact that was surprisingly forgotten or ignored by we inhabitants above, and tonight was no exception. Never, has it occurred to us to inform Shlomi of any type of get-together, and it would be too late for that now. The mob of North shore musicians were over and cousin Dingus was already in high form, raising his voice above the fray with a malt 40 in hand and an itch to playfully harass. As Roy returned up the stairs he is met by hoots and hollers from those in the main living room. I, being among them, look at my empty wrist as a greeting. “I get a shift drink after work” he answers. Not leaving us in suspense “whiissky” he says in that unique lispy drawl he uses for special words. “Jack and coke?” I ask eagerly, as this has been our current go to. “Jack and coke” he confirms before weaving on and nut tapping Isy in passing before turning to shield from retaliation as he moves out of sight.
The Music would be headlining, an English band with unbelievably epic songs on their self-titled album that they would be surely performing. They had been the openers for Oasis, and New Order, Coldplay, and played at some big festivals. Now they were the main attraction, and our circle felt they were well deserving. Stilts hands me a bottle of Jamison to take a pull off of. He is the radar for these bands coming through, He found VAST, and Ours, Caspian, and now; the Music. His pretentious buddy Bev, with his thick lips and bulgy eyes, looks on with a side glance and permanent smirk. His shoulder length straw hair sits flat and tight tucked behind his ears. When he talks it is with a slow corrective tone and deliberate vocal fry. He is like a cheese grater; you can only pat his ego in one direction. He is also a talented guitarist and lead man, and competition for some of the sexy gals’ attention that weave through our groups. He is a necessary evil when hanging with Stilts and crew. With every collection of friend circles, there are always unmutual friends that come attached, grandfathered in from days before, kinda like children from a prior marriage.
The walk down to the Washington street station is raucous. When money is tight, you gotta make the best of home prices, and we were fairly lit. It being winter in New England, most of us stop for the B line T. The green line brings you right to the Paradise in a mere three stops. Cousin Dingus has elected to walk, along with Ross, a guy who never misses a chance for a quick paced hike. I look at their dark silhouettes recede as I am waiting for the train to arrive. Cousin Ds arms are swinging easily as he descends the hill, with heavy feet stepping outward like a duck, his big frame pointed steady forward as Ross’s silhouette is turning to and fro in pantomimed conversation. Panache too, bids goodbye with a wry grin and a red nose, like a Hannah Barbara character. He was just by for the before party, and heads after them to his place in the same direction. The rest of us are bundled up, but to the bare minimum level, knowing it will be close quarters in the venue.
The cold calmed the mood and the ride gave me time to think. The sheer feeling of freedom and friendship was matching the buzz that had me feeling on top of the world. Such a contrast from the militant life of restriction I had recently undergone, where religious shelter and intolerance ruled absolutely, and restricted all aspects of college life. This was how it was meant to be, out in the open, going to shows, linking arms with girls, laughing, DRUNK! No need to sneak out of campus in trunks, nor check what language was being used. There has been enough space from that life of total compliance, and the double life of covert work arounds, to start breathing easy. I mused happily at the change of reality I now found himself as I worked on rolling a smoke for the line out front of the Paradise. I placed the blue sack of Drum tobacco on my lap and coaxed my cold fingers to perform the ritual. I had no idea I would be heading back into that felonious headspace in such a short time.
There is a line, but both double doors are propped open and it is moving. The excitement of being out carries us through the weather as we transition to the inside. Roy peeks into his new bar looking to see co-workers still on shift as we sift into the belly of the building. Once out back, our group plants roots center of the room, closer to the bar than the stage. I open a tab with the tender and buy a round for a few of the guys. This place has a buzz and crashing guitar announces the openers start to their set, met with a unanimously loud approval from the crowd.
The trouble came later just as the headliners began. That was the moment the tall guy brought out his pipe and it passed around. While the smell of herb was not unfamiliar in such spaces, it was very much against the house policy, and apparently security was not putting a blind eye to it. Lady luck waited for my turn in the rotation, then sent security descending like the CIA. A strong grip on my shoulder spun me around just after my exhale. Instinctively, I dropped my hands behind my back as I turned and tugged the closest shirt a couple times, hoping whoever it was would be smart enough to take the paraphernalia from me. It was Bev’s shirt, I could hear his stupid “whaahuh?” as he, along with the rest of the group, was turning at the commotion. Meanwhile, I was being confronted by a gym rat dressed in black, bald head, with flashlight, ear piece, and mean face. “You. You can’t be doing that in here” he barked, “Let’s Go, You’re outta here” he motioned towards the exit. Suddenly, I saw other flashlights training in on me just as I felt the weight lighten from my hands. Perhaps I have judged Bev too prematurely, he saw what was happening, knew exactly what to do, and didn’t hesitate…with the evidence gone, I was gonna be in the clear! I stepped forward towards the bouncer. “Be doing what?” I protested with a hint of combativeness, now able to present my empty hands. “You won’t find anything on me” and then I was raising my arms, inviting the buff Bruce Willis wanna-be to pat me down. Another guard showed up in black, and Bruce repeated “Lets go” motioning backwards with finality. I could see this guy was resolved and thought it best to make some separation from my comrades with the piece and these unfreindlies. The guards handled my shoulder to the mouth of the corridor, where talking was slightly more possible. I jerked myself free but was quickly surrounded by three big security guards now. They have done this before. A glance back revealed my friends with slack jaws and sorrow in their eyes. “Don’t touch me” I writhed angrily at the group, escalating the situation. “I have a tab in there you know” I squealed, as if my card was an anchor which they couldn’t possibly separate me from. The lead guy looked at another and said “get the card” and then looked at me demanding the details to retrieve it. Roy was suddenly there offering a soothing voice of negotiation. “Hey guys, he didn’t mean any harm, this is just a misunderstanding” The group was moving down the corridor now, with it seemed to be, near every bouncer joining the apprehension and blocking the way back in. We were now the equivalent of that 15 cop cars scene you drive by and wonder what is going on there? Must be something big, or maybe, that whole precinct is just bored. “You can’t break the rules here” one of the new guy was responding to Roy. I was chiming in mockingly to Roy, but really talking to everybody, “No these guys don’t care about paying customers man…about innocent music lovers…they’d rather piss all over someone’s parade, then show a little scrap of humanity.” Roy made another attempt, “Man come on, we don’t want to miss the show, can’t you just let him stay?”
“He’d have better luck trying to dodge raindrops” came the response.
I was in another space of disbelief and was not going to lose audience of this conversation. The whiskey in me decided that if this was going to happen, I was going to make it as unpleasant as possible. Truthfully, I was still in denial. There is no way I’m going to miss this show, yet here we are, a mob walking down the long corridor, like a condemned man walking the green mile.
By the time we approached the outer doors, I was severely mocking these security goons. I was mimicking one as if I were him, up playing the drunkenness, speaking obnoxiously: “I’m a really special boy, I can lift more inanimate objects at one time than you”. What sort of fire I was playing with was reckless to say the least. I was baiting these guys, playing chicken with them to beat my pickled ass, and they wanted nothing more than to do so. The veins on their necks told the story. But for some reason, they had this mostly stoic demeanor. They were not engaging with me, understandably, and I was taking liberties with this decision. I was heckling them to the brink of cracking through that London guard veneer. As they waited for my debit card to arrive, the group of men in black stood right in the threshold of the double doors as Roy and I stood a few paces away. Their body language was rigid; they were holding their wrists in front of their bodies, legs shoulder length apart, barring the way. “Oh I’m a tough guy… cause I can harass this pooooor hippy on FALSE FUCKING CHARGES…”I kept working myself up on my fabricated moral high ground, and the guys had to stand there and endure it. I could tell they were sick of my shit. “I don’t have jack on me, you profiling fucks!” Roy probably sensed that I was about to chase my words with a hefty knuckle back and pulled me further away from the doors.
The giant silver tour bus was parked there right out front on Commonwealth, obstructing the view of the train tracks, and that green Enterprise sign. I mulled around with Roy, who was showing the depths of his support, not sure what to do, but staying by my side. “Let’s play some music when we get home” he offered weakly. I pulled out my pouch and rolled up a smoke. What a crock of shit. The bouncers were clotted up in a circle at the doorway, their adrenaline was spiked to match my energy, and they were talking to each other with bulging eyes and strained voices. Finally, one of the security parted the group and crossed the ten feet to fling my card at me. “Here it is. It was declined” he said disgustedly. “Uhhh, what does that mean?” Roy asked slowly. “Nothing. It means get out of here.”
He turned and joined the others as I stuffed the plastic into my pocket and dropped my head to light the cig. I was analyzing the situation. Suddenly, these meat heads were not paying us any attention anymore; this was a done deal and now they were in a different mode of celebration and banter. Their composure was on full exhale, it was like night and day difference. They were actually having the most fun of the night right now and this engagement may just last long enough I thought… but we gotta move now! “Come on” I said as I pulled my friends shoulder and headed along the sidewalk. “wanna stop for a slice?” said Roy “No” I said sharply, “just follow my lead, we’re going back in. Don’t look back”
Roy picked up his pace to match mine, we were about halfway under the marquee of the Paradise now walking center of sidewalk, slightly closer to the building. “You know the guy working the door for the Lounge right?…Just keep the hello’s brief and keep moving in” We had come to the left entrance and I open the door quickly to let Roy in first and took a brief glance towards our old friends in the process. None of them were looking this way! I scurry after Roy, flicking my smoke and acting casual. The bouncer looks up from his stool with his hand automatically raising to hold up an imaginary I.D., the age-old monkey see monkey do sign language. “Hey Wally” says Roy evenly as we both hold up our wristbands still in motion. Walter gives him an upward nod as he opens the door for us. “Too cold to be smoking” we can hear him say as we blend back inside and need to move fast. Luckily, Wally never suspects that the altercation he’s been listening to on his walkie is us. Roy was able to tap into the coworker protocol and bypass suspicion. “They’re still debriefing at the door” I explain as we bee line to the back corner that opens to the main thoroughfare.
The Music is blaring through the building, and we can hear it through the walls, beckoning us back. “When we get to the hallway, don’t slow down, don’t look right, and stay on my left side to shield me from the ticket checker in case she recognizes me. Focus on getting back to the show and acting natural” I was flipped back into that covert lifestyle that just did and dealt with the trauma of what ifs later. I knew the window for action was brief and the ally of hijinks is doing things preposterously brazen. You often can’t get away with the little things that are being monitored, but big enough things are often outside of comprehension. Still, this was the risky bit. The gal checking bracelets could recognize us, but if we could move with the confidence like we belonged, we should be able to get through before her suspicions could get the best of her. As we took the turn into the corridor, all senses were alive. I could hear the muffled banter and laughter still booming from the distant gang of men that had just had to deal with my drunken theatrics to the right, and the blaring music from the left. Stepping out into the hallway, our backs were in sight of the hopefully preoccupied guards and the checkpoint girl was directly ahead on the left wall. I took the outside lane and then slackened my pace to avoid recognition from her, shielding my frame behind Roy, but making sure my wrist band was still visible. Roy kept a brisk pace that I was able to match. We got past her and immediately quickened our step to disappear into the darkness, with that tingle you get as a kid when you walk up the basement stairs.
We moved through the sea of sound and plowing into the crowd, reunited with the group. “Wara!” shrilled Dean in excitement when he saw me, but I was all business. The sweetness of the potential victory must equally be deferred as well. “Dean, I need you to switch sweatshirts with me, they won’t recognize me in that flannel.” We two stooped down in a tight sea of music and lights and people to pull off outer garments for a swap. “I owe you”. The tall man noticed our return and smiled down and grabbed my hat before plopping down his beanie on my head. “Good to have you back” I think he mouthed through the onslaught of guitar and synth, with long arm still extending the devil horns towards the stage. I pushed through the crowd to find some deeper cover, just in case. The rest of the show was so amazing, the excitement of what had happened was quickly captured wholly by the performers. Perhaps it was the whiskey, the herb, or the rock-n-roll, but the Music completely shattered the mental bonds of the caper. We had made it back in, and without further incident, were able to live out plan A until the final curtain. As I departed with the river of people funneling out of the building, I suppressed the urge to give a wry smile to the door man as I entered the night air to ultimate freedom. I instead thanked the Paradise for bringing the Music, and mentally noted the tab I (still) owe them.
What to drink? Whiskey and coke…if you want to roll the dice
What do smoke? Best choose an edible or tincture. Save yourself the drama
When to go? Never a bad time to see a show here
Uncharted Dives 