I was standing next to the members of my favorite band. I had just seen them play all of my favorite songs. I didn’t even feel like a crazy fan – though I definitely was. I felt like one of them. I racked my brain to remember how I had ended up in such an awesome circumstance.
It was during the reign of myspace, and I logged onto my myspace account at least once daily to keep up with the latest from all my friends and favorite bands. One of the best features was the ‘bulletin’ — sort of like a message you could sent to all your friends, but they didn’t have to go to their inbox to see it. It just appeared on their home page, next to their other friend’s bulletins.
One December morning I logged into my myspace and saw a bulletin from possibly my favorite band at the time, Rooney, titled “Rooney in Portland.” I don’t live in or anywhere near Portland, and I never have, but I clicked on it anyway to read that they were asking for help selling merchandise at their Portland show. There was an email address at the end of the bulletin. Impulsively, I emailed it to see if they could use help at their tour stop in my city.
Almost immediately I got a response – they did.
After setting up the details, I arrived at the venue a few hours before the show began. I crammed myself behind the little merchandise booth with their regular merchandise girl, Kara. I hung up t-shirts and spread out stickers. At one point I stepped away from her to get something, and a tall passing-through man dressed in all black stopped to look at me. “She’s with me,” Kara said. The man nodded and continued passing. Oddly enough, that moment was very exciting to me. I was okay to be there. I was “with” her.
When the time of the show became nearer, crowds of people rushed in. They traded me money for clothing with their favorite band’s name on it; it felt like a nice power to have.
Then, after the opening band came on, Kara told me, “You can go watch if you want to.” I smiled at her as I ran out from behind that little booth and into the theatre. I opened the door and the sound of electric guitars grew louder as I entered a dark, crowded room filled with music enthusiasts. I banged my head and sang along, enjoying the show like a regular patron. Then, as they played their final song, I ran back to the booth to continue selling their things. This trend repeated itself all throughout the night.
At the end of the night, I stayed to help package everything. Band members casually walked around the building. I let my head follow their steps while I continued assisting Kara.
That’s how I ended up with exclusive access at a Rooney concert.