The greatest thing about performing is having friends who come, cheer you on and are genuinely amazed and delighted. Tonight, I tried to be in the audience for Sarah, and I swear the odds were against me from the start.
First, when my roommate said 3:45, I heard we need to leave the house at 3:45. Little did I realize, she meant we need to be at the ferry at that time. Arriving home at the prescribed hour, I panicked. They had left without me.
I grabbed my keys. It was only 13 minutes away and, gee, there was more than twenty minutes till the ferry left. I overshot the port by I don't know how many blocks, and arrived in time to watch the boat pull away.
The next option was a different ferry. It would require more driving on the other side of the water, but I'd make it just in time to see her set. Off I went, copying directions from my dying phone because, hey, it was dying.
One hour later: I've overshot the place by ten miles. Crap. How did this happen? These things ran through my mind all at once, falling over each other in confusion as I righted myself and headed back the way I came. It was already past her start time.
By the time I reached the address, it was doubtful I would catch any of the performance. But what was I to do? At least I could meet up with everybody, gush over her and follow them to her house, which I would never find on my own.
Driving through multiple shopping centers, it became clear something was amiss. I picked up my phone to call and ask when it decided to give up the ghost and finally die.
Awesome.
I asked the girl at the Circle K, and when she had no idea what the Global Bean even was, I kind of knew I was screwed.
I looked. I searched. I tried. I drove and drove and roamed and checked and went to Best Buy for a car charger and came out with my head hung. I was undone.
And so, cut off from friends and google, I did the only thing I knew how. I went home. Back to a different ferry with an hour long ride alone, watching the sun set over the calming sky, still billowing with clouds black and white, bleak and puffy.
I arrived in Seattle, just in time for the Mariners game to end. And traffic stood perfectly still while thousands poured out from Safeco field. While I should have had some joy seeing some of the fans in Red Sox gear, my levity was quickly deflated when I overheard the results of the game. I don't know who they were playing, but the Mariners won.
By now I'm already thoroughly depressed. And Seattle shuts down freeway entrances, apparently, whenever the Mariners play. Because that's obviously a good idea.
I'll skip the boring parts, which lasted anguishly long. But they finally ended, like most nightmares, and I finally arrived at my house.
Tea, if you're reading this, I would do it again in an attempt to come and see you play. Please say you're hooked and plan to keep performing. For what it's worth, Happy Birthday.
First, when my roommate said 3:45, I heard we need to leave the house at 3:45. Little did I realize, she meant we need to be at the ferry at that time. Arriving home at the prescribed hour, I panicked. They had left without me.
I grabbed my keys. It was only 13 minutes away and, gee, there was more than twenty minutes till the ferry left. I overshot the port by I don't know how many blocks, and arrived in time to watch the boat pull away.
The next option was a different ferry. It would require more driving on the other side of the water, but I'd make it just in time to see her set. Off I went, copying directions from my dying phone because, hey, it was dying.
One hour later: I've overshot the place by ten miles. Crap. How did this happen? These things ran through my mind all at once, falling over each other in confusion as I righted myself and headed back the way I came. It was already past her start time.
By the time I reached the address, it was doubtful I would catch any of the performance. But what was I to do? At least I could meet up with everybody, gush over her and follow them to her house, which I would never find on my own.
Driving through multiple shopping centers, it became clear something was amiss. I picked up my phone to call and ask when it decided to give up the ghost and finally die.
Awesome.
I asked the girl at the Circle K, and when she had no idea what the Global Bean even was, I kind of knew I was screwed.
I looked. I searched. I tried. I drove and drove and roamed and checked and went to Best Buy for a car charger and came out with my head hung. I was undone.
And so, cut off from friends and google, I did the only thing I knew how. I went home. Back to a different ferry with an hour long ride alone, watching the sun set over the calming sky, still billowing with clouds black and white, bleak and puffy.
I arrived in Seattle, just in time for the Mariners game to end. And traffic stood perfectly still while thousands poured out from Safeco field. While I should have had some joy seeing some of the fans in Red Sox gear, my levity was quickly deflated when I overheard the results of the game. I don't know who they were playing, but the Mariners won.
By now I'm already thoroughly depressed. And Seattle shuts down freeway entrances, apparently, whenever the Mariners play. Because that's obviously a good idea.
I'll skip the boring parts, which lasted anguishly long. But they finally ended, like most nightmares, and I finally arrived at my house.
Tea, if you're reading this, I would do it again in an attempt to come and see you play. Please say you're hooked and plan to keep performing. For what it's worth, Happy Birthday.
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