I bolted home from work yesterday, walking with such fervor in a pair of heels that I was convinced my ankle was going to roll over any second, leaving me collapsed and helpless on the dirty, unexplainably wet sidewalk. I hurriedly changed, and proceeded to zig and zag back throughout the lackadaisical street dwellers, impressing myself with how I might make it to the show exactly on time, even though I left twenty minutes later than planned. I briskly walked throughout the train station nearest me — the layout can only be comparable to an urban catacomb — and finally found the J train platform, which was so hidden that I’m still unsure of its location. Three train stops, a glance at a map and a few coincidentally correct turns and finally, I had made it to the Mercury Lounge. And Headlights were playing a half-hour later than expected! So, even though I rushed and shoved my granola bar dinner down my throat en route, everything was fine now, since I had made it, and just had to wait in line to be let in.
That is, until the doorman took my friend Laura’s ID, scanned it, winced his face, laughed and said, “Uh….sorry….”
It was 21+. My birthday is June 11th. Eleven days later, I’d be allowed in.
So, due to the fact that my parents couldn’t conceive me two weeks earlier, I was unable to attend the show. But, I’m sure it was wonderful, and I bet Erin Fein was wearing something fabulous, like she always does.
Next time, kids. I owe you one. Sorry for the musical tease.
-C
