My brother and I had a pretty weird experience at a gig Friday night. I must have told the story 8 or 9 times already since then, but this is the first time that I have had a moment to get to my computer to tell you all about the fine time that we had in San Jose.
Imagine the typical pub. Picture the seats and bar empty (maybe typical, maybe not, depending on your communities drinking habits). Now, place Josiah and me hanging out at a couple of tables by the stage with 3 other artists who are staring at a clock. The clock read 5:00 at arrival. It read 6:00 when the gig was supposed to have started. It read 7:00 when the promoter guy said, “It’s going to start any minute”. And it read 8:30 when the musicians decided to go home. JK. It read 8:30 when the musician looked around and realized that something weird was going.
After hours of waiting we started exchanging the stories of what had brought each of us out to San Jose for such an obscure show. The common denominator in each story was some farfetched things that we had all been told by the show’s promoter. The promoter was—allegedly—the owner of a record label seeking new talent, working with the pop sensation, Colby Caillat, and he was sad because he was going to bring Dashboard Confessional out for this show for $55,000 but at the last minute they changed their fee to $70,000—the apparent reason why we were there instead. Hmm… skeptical much?
We were all convinced that this guy was questionable at best but one of the artists decided that getting paid might be in question too. After kicking the problem around with the rest of us, he took it upon himself to inquire. The promoter, hearing that the night’s entertainment was uneasy, quickly fired back a solution. The call had already been made. A local, who routinely draws 150 people minimum, had been added to the night’s bill. He was going to save the day. So we all eagerly waited. Not really though, because we all knew that truth wasn’t blowing in from that direction.
The clock read 9:30 and the show began. Mr. 150 hadn’t shown up yet. But the show went on for the handful of people that were there. When the last band played, it all started to make sense.
The band got three songs in and the DJ made an announcement that the band was going to play one more song and then there would be an announcement—redundant? The next song ended and the promoter guy got on stage, grabbed a mic, and told everyone to grab their raffle tickets. “The ticket ending in 392 can come up and claim their prize.” Since nobody responded, several people shouted out requests for a re-draw. With a little more emphasis this time he repeated, “The ticket ending in 392 can come up and claim their prize.” Again, there was no winner and we wanted a re-draw but no redraw was done. A few awkward moments passed and finally a woman walked on stage to claim the prize. “There is no prize actually,” the promoter said as the woman joined him on the stage. We are all about to jump the guy at this point but he gets down on his knee. He looks up at the woman and says, “I’m the prize if you’ll marry me.” Crying and hugging, everyone else clapping and cheering, a yes was implied and the band began to play a pretty love song.
Yes(!), it clicked didn’t it? All the mularchy that we heard was to make this proposal happen. Apparently the headlining band was a favorite of the woman’s (I think Dashboard might have been her first pick but that didn’t work out). You couldn’t help but give the guy props for his efforts. The moment was pretty great for all of us. Since it all made sense, we had the wonderful feeling that comes with a burst of mental clarity. We got to see a mushy, gushy, lovy, happy moment and those always feel good. And we got a good laugh because it was one of the most bizarre experiences for all of us.
Good times right? The clock said 12:45 and we headed home, got lost a couple of times, and tried every exit between San Jose and Rocklin for an open restaurant. We found none and the 2 ½ hour drive ended up taking 4 ½ . Awesome! So, how was your thanksgiving weekend?
