I’m trying to expand my storytelling to include experiences that do NOT involve me being a total alcoholic. You should know that I actually hold down a full-time professional job and have numerous hobbies. I mean, I actually read. Like books and stuff. It’s crazy, I know. This noggin is more than just a hat rack, people!
However, I do tend to invite strange things into my life. Odd people talk to me about odd things and I do not know why. I must have an inviting look (glassy eyed, drooling, slumped over with dried vomit on my shirt).
I also am a complete klutz, and the two coupled together make for some interesting stories. If I had a camera following me around, it would look an awful lot like a creepier version of America’s Funniest Home Videos. Except instead of some little kid swinging a bat into my nuts, I’d somehow be using a homeless midget as a nunchuck and smack myself in the face with “Person I’m Barely Taller Than.”
Back to the story. Something I have always loved is music. I may have a horrible memory, so I will not be able to recite to you the names of songs, albums, year they were produced, etc., not even to some of my favorite bands. Regardless, whether at work or at home, music is usually always playing. I love going to concerts and discovering new bands.
My love of music started at a rather young age. In high school I went to numerous concerts, although truth be told this usually involved getting drunk or high beforehand and trying to not get arrested. My junior year I attended a “Battle of the Bands” at a CHURCH drunk AND high. My boyfriend at the time had to hold me up, as I couldn’t walk.
At a church.
I managed to not get hit by lightening that night, but I’m pretty sure that is the reason I hear a clap of thunder anytime I step within 50 feet of a church. It’s a warning sign. I’m afraid my invitation has been revoked.
So a large group of us attended a jamboree of different bands put on by a local radio station. This was the late 90s, so it was mostly grunge rock. I had my normal costume on of oversized thrift store clothes and pigtails. The cherry on top was my construction worker boots. My friend used to call me “Alternative Grungemaster Leigh.” I certainly dressed the part that night.
At this Jamboree I am stone cold sober. Being the little shit that I am, I eagerly agreed to “go up” to crowd surf. While multiple man hands were grabbing at my teenage crotch and chest, I felt someone tug on my shoe. Then my foot felt lighter. Someone stole my shoe!
Gravity eventually brought me back to dry land, and I really had no choice but to walk around the rest of the night with one shoe. A few minutes went by and my 5’2” frame was trying to not get trampled by the sweaty giants surrounding me. Then, all of a sudden, BAM! I got kicked in the face by someone crowd surfing, which caused a bloody nose explosion.
I clamped my hands on my face and began running with ONE SHOE to the nearest washroom. I have to go through masses of people and it took some time. My friend helped me stop the bleeding, but unfortunately my shirt was already covered in blood. My face essentially looked like it had just given birth. In the meantime, my white sock was now turning a strange shade of brown.
I was looking hot.
So as my friend and I made our way down the stairs back to the mass of people, I totally wiped out on my ass down the stairs. We are talking legs in the air with me flying right behind on my well-endowed ass. I was wearing one shoe, my shirt was covered in blood and I wiped out on the stairs.
This all happened within about ten minutes.
As I dusted myself off and made sure all of my appendages were in place, an usher pulled my friend over to ask if I was drunk and perhaps should be escorted out.
I was sober. Unfortunately.
So in one night I managed to lose a shoe, get kicked in the face (causing a massive nose bleed) and then top it all off with a banana peel-esque tumble on concrete stairs.
All in one night…while sober.
Do you people now understand why I drink? At least if I’m drunk I don’t remember the incredulous looks of judgment and pity I get from strangers and friends alike.
What would you think if you saw a 16-year-old girl running around a concert in oversized clothes picked from the garbage, in pigtails, with ONE construction worker boot, shirt covered in blood and using the stairs as her own personal slip n’ slide?
Yeah. You’d drink too if you were me.