It’s my personal belief that, on average, disasters make the best stories. Unfortunately, I’ve accumulated some very good stories this week. But since it’s really three separate stories I’ll do everything in my power to keep things short (which probably means it wont be much longer than eight pages).
Let’s start with sleeping arrangements in San Diego and then we’ll move on to why I’ve had an eerie feeling I’m trapped in a bad 80s sitcom.
Night one: Mostly spent on a bench outside the train station alternately wishing someone would turn up the heat and coming to the stark realization that the only difference between me and my bench neighbor was a recent shower (I wont say who got to take a shower).
Night two: I found a cozy looking bush that I was looking forward to sleeping in (What? I’ve never slept in a bush. It sounded like an adventure!) but was dissuaded when I looked down to see cockroaches swarming around my feet. So instead I pulled up a six-foot section of sidewalk right outside the convention center. Yes. It sucked. Yes. It was cold and hard and uncomfortable. But before you pass judgment know that there were MANY people sleeping on the sidewalk in line for the Comic Con. Granted, for the most part they were much better prepared than I was…but at least I wasn’t alone.
Night three: After a long night out, I wandered over to the train station and waited for a couple hours until the first train of the day went out. I jumped on and slept all the way up to LA then hopped on another train going back down South and worked on the computer the whole time. That was the most comfortable night, but still didn’t amount to much sleep.
On night two I met Kelly and Barry, Kelly from Gain and Barry from UTA (both great people…firmly keeping up my streak) and was persuaded to go out to a party the following night. Cue theme music for low budget TGIF sitcom.
I showed up at the club where Gain and MTV were hosting their party and offered one of the bouncers my ticket.
“This is the right place, but we have a dress code here. No shorts.”
“Are jeans okay? I have a pair in my backpack.”
“Sure,” he shrugged. I got a bad vibe.
So, to lighten things up, “Awesome, can I just drop my pants right here?” I didn’t even get a shadow of a smile. So I wandered down the street to a parking garage and walked up the stairwell a few flights to do a quick change. When I got back…
“Okay, let’s rock.”
“You can’t bring that backpack in here. This is a club. Come on, man. You should know better.”
“Seriously? Do you have a check in or anything?”
“Nope.” He used that tone of voice that says, “There’s something about you I strongly dislike. I’m not sure what that might be but just to be on the safe side I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you don’t get in here.” (That’s a lot to say with one word.)
It was right about then that the stubborn insistence that no one ever stop me from doing what I want kicked in. I walked a couple blocks down the street and found a construction site so I jumped the wall and stashed my bag in a bush and walked the several blocks back to the club.
This time I talked to a different bouncer, “Okay, all taken care of. Are we ready to go?”
“Let me see your ID.”
From behind him yet another bouncer chimed in, “He can’t wear that hat in here.”
“It’s pretty lax tonight, MTV is sponsoring and they don’t care.” Finally a bouncer on my side…kinda.
“I don’t care who it is. No hats.”
“Seriously?! You guys are killing me! I just want to say hi to a friend. I don’t want to dance, I don’t want to drink…I don’t even want to be in there very long.”
“Sorry, pal.” At least this guy was managing to sound sympathetic.
“What’s your name?”
“Okay, thanks Ron, I’m not pissed off…really. I understand you have your rules. And if nothing else you’re making life interesting. But this sucks.”
On that note I hightailed it back to the construction site and ditched my hat too. Why it was better for the world to see my unkempt hair than my hat I’m not sure.
As I approached the club again I saw that after jumping through hoops for over an hour a line had built up and was stretching around the corner. I walked up to the ropes again and shrugged, “Come on Ron, help me out here buddy.”
Behind Ron, the first “I hate Brett” bouncer was talking to a couple girls that had been waiting in line and finally made it to the front. He glared in my direction and said something along the lines of, “I don’t know who the f**k that guy is…”
Lucky for me, he continued to glare in my direction as Ron opened up his velvet rope and let me walk in without waiting in line. Victory.
After that it was an awesome night! I chatted with Kelly and Barry for a while, met some more interesting people and ended up staying MUCH longer than I told Ron I would.
BUT I saw some dude in the club with a green hat on. Bouncers are bastards.
Okay Team, Since this was so much longer than I intended and I’m still smack dab in the middle of sitcom-esque disaster number three, I’ll just save that one for another day.
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