I have strange luck.
It’s never consistent luck, like it is never a good constant and a bad constant, but instead it’s a cosmic mix of good and bad luck that was hilarious, but now I find fucking annoying. It’s made me jump to the conclusion that the various gods above and below are all enjoying the hilarious show that is my zany life and pissing themselves like no tomorrow. Oh woe is me, dear reader, woe is me! I could rattle on and give specific examples, but I think one story would just about prove my crazy theory and make you shake your own fist at the sky and curse the odd luck. This story shall be called:
Come on jerk, give a dude a break!
If you don’t know already, my favorite band of all existence is at the drive-in. They were a band that had explosive energy, music that hit all the marks and a style that shiploads of lesser bands tried to copy to no success. The unfortunate thing was in the peak of their international success, they imploded and announced an indefinite hiatus. This would then fuel that band to pursue all different types of ethics and styles that would be reveled in success; bands like Defacto, Sparta, Sleepercar, Dios Kilos, The Fall on Deaf Ears, Jim Ward solo project, the Omar Rodriguez Lopez group and so on.
I was lucky to have met 3/5’s of At The Drive-In and spend time with my fucking heroes, Jim Ward, Paul Hinojos and Tony Hajjar. And I never felt starstruck before, but these guys were my equivalent of meeting gods. But that left Omar and Cedric as the only two I hadn’t a chance in meeting. And it was impossible, they are in a band called The Mars Volta, and getting a chance to meet them would be like winning the fucking lottery.
Little did I know, I bought a ticket and lost it…
I was working a graveyard shift at work, and it was my fourth day into a 6 day streak, due to a mishap into the rostering schedule. I was already up for days since I was chasing work up with lack of sleep, by filling other hours full of wanting to rehearse with bands, a few freelance editing gigs and spending time with my then grrrl. So at this point I felt like the embodiment of the living dead; my eyes were propped open with toothpicks, which were as red and sore like damaged skin, my skin was pale and clammy as it missed the sweet warn glow that the sun graces and my mind was a mush that housed the bare essentials to breathe, mumble, chuckle and operate a job effectively without the risk of being fired.
It was then that I received a call from Dreadlock Tony. This guy is by far one of the coolest folk to assault the planet, he is a talented Graf artist that had bombs all around Sydney that would make people double take, was interviewed in the Sydney Morning Herald into why he was so cool (I’m not joking, that’s the truth) and was able to land tickets to events and places that are just impossible.
The Mars Volta was playing an exclusive gig and he landed tickets, he knew how much of a true die hard I was for them, so I was the first point of call. Also he dropped the bombshell that he landed backstage tickets too. I did what anyone would do when they were about to meet their heroes… Shrieked like a pre-pubescent kid and jump wildly about the place.
So I agreed. In two days time I was to see this gig during the day and get a chance to hang out with Omar and Cedric from the Mars Volta. My various gods things were looking up!
What I didn’t anticipate was the excitement that would generate inside my own being. I then spent the following two days awake still, eagerly awaiting the day to meet the other 2/5’s of At The Drive-In. I completely ignored my need for rest that when the day swung around I was doomed to crash and burn.
I finished my night shift at work, it was a bright hot summer day in the middle of January, and I crawled to my car. I thought the plan through, finish work, get into car, take a nap, wake up good to go for THE encounter. And so I did. I didn’t anticipate the coma I was about to slip into, and so for the following 12 hours I snoozed in my car, at the parking lot of my work, on the day where I was to meet my heroes.
I awoke hours later fully rested. I instantly knew that feeling was the opposite in mind, I looked over at my phone, there was 12 missed calls, 8 texts and the clock displayed that it was late in the evening. It then occurred to me what happened.
I casually then stepped out of my car. Closed the door. And began to yell and scream so loudly that my voice bounced off the moon and ruptured ear drums in Russia.
I SLEPT THROUGH THE CHANCE MOMENT OF MEETING THE MARS VOLTA. HOW THE HELL DID I MANAGE TO DO THAT?
Curse you luck gods. Curse you in wanting to see me deafen some poor mamuska in Russia over getting a chance to share a brew with my heroes. Curse you! You might have won this round, but I would get the last laugh! You’ll see!