U2: 360 World Tour
01
Oct
2009
I battled my way through traffic for 3.5 hours. I listened to practically every channel on my satellite radio trying to pass time. I even listened to the Spanish channel, Caliente, attempting to brush up on my español conversacional. I watched drunken people get out of the car, run into the woods, pee, and run back to their car to find that traffic hadn’t moved an inch. Come on…I was hungry, I had to pee, and I was tired from sitting for so long.
It was long after the first sign of hunger pains that the light at the end of the tunnel became clear. I could SEE FedEx Field.
I pulled my two tickets out of my cream Pierro Guidi purse, and reassured myself and the mystery man in the passenger seat that, “these tickets come with purple parking passes. That means we get to park right in front of the stadium.” It was then when I saw the first sparkle in his eyes, hypnotically divulging the thoughts that were secretively going through his mind: “I’ve spent three and a half hours in a car with a chica that won’t shut her mouth for a second. The purple parking pass is a blessing from God; I need to get out of this car!!”
And as Washingtonian’s living in this great city known for the recent embryonic development of the word, “Hope,” I ask you all to please let me be a witness to hope’s truth:
So, as I inched closer and closer to the one lane marked with signs directing the “privileged” traffic to the purple lot, like Dorothy being told to follow the yellow brick road, I grasped my tickets tighter and rolled my window down to show the traffic attendant. ”Hi, Sir…” And I was politely interrupted, “Ma’am, there’s plenty of parking, plenty of parking, just around the corner in that lot.” As he pointed to a lot a mile away from the stadium. “Oh, but you see, sir, these tickets I have here come with Purple lot parking. It says so right here, look!” As I pointed to the PURPLE LOT PARKING printed in bold letters on the ticket. “Yes ma’am, the Purple lot is completely full, this lot here,” pointing to the same far away lot, “will be a great alternative.” And he kindly sent us in the only direction I didn’t want to go in: Away from the Purple lot.
I was suddenly so grateful (more than any man will ever know) that I didn’t wear heels that night; the idea that I initially had of going to a fun concert had turned into a three and a half hour road trip, a series of rib-cage cramping hunger pains, and a mile long hike (one way)! As we pulled into the alternatively “great lot,” I saw yet another glimpse of hope, a golf cart! I immediately turned to my mystery man and begged him to admit that he was handicapped (okay, I may go to Hell for that one…) so that we could snag a closer spot in the far-off lot, in addition to catching a brisk ride on the golf cart to the stadium. So my mystery man rolled his window down and began his improvised persuasive speech in an effort to convince the parking attendant that he was actually handicapped (after all, he did have a sling on his arm).
It was five words into his supposed persuasive speech, when the parking attendant blankly smiled back at us. It was obvious that this great idea I had was not going to work; the attendant had not a clue what we were saying. No hablos Inglés. I finally found a far-off parking spot and I quickly whipped my car into the spot. And as we got out of the car and began our long, cold trek to the stadium, I chuckled to my mystery man, “So much for hope,” as I clutched my bag tighter in one hand and my handicap man’s bicep in the other, and we laughed all the way to the stadium.
Upon arrival, we gave our tickets a try at an entrance in the nearest “Suites Only” tunnel. And to no one’s surprise, we were quickly redirected to the main ticket entrance. So, we turned around and started off in a different direction to find any entrance that would let us in: I desperately had to go #1, and my friend’s appetite had grown to the size of a lion’s. Our discouraged and slumped over body language must have been unmistakably obvious because the “gatekeeper” for the “Suites Only” entrance quickly yelled back to my friend, “Hey Mayne! You handicap!!” As he noticed the sling on his right arm. “Come on in. We got you!… Let theze fokes in, this man handicap.” If the ground underneath of me had not looked like a drunken fan had recently urinated on it, I would have considered kneeling down for a quick, “Thank you God,” prayer. Instead, I went with a girlie, “moochoze grassyaz.” The three and a half hour satellite radio Spanish lessons certainly paid off; we were finally in!!!
“Ok you get the food, I’m going to the bathroom, and I’ll meet you back here.” As I pointed to the condiments stand next to us. Ten minutes later, I came out of the bathroom with a big smile on my face to reassure my date that I didn’t just take a #2 in the stadium bathroom. The truth is that there was no toilet paper in the stalls, and with my best attempt at being a Good Samaritan, I ran all of the women, who were patiently drip-drying in their stalls, hand-fulls of paper towels from the dispensers near the sink. This was yet another great idea I that had, one that I hoped to balance out my karma from the, “okay, you fake like your handicap…” and, “I’m probably going to Hell for this one,” scheme.
So, I pushed the main bathroom door open with the butt of my new navy Rock N’ Republic jeans, and greeted my main squeeze waiting by the condiment station with a big smile. He had the food. I had the tickets. Let’s get a beer. Put some ketchup on those fries. And let’s find our seats.
We pushed our way past mosh pits of drunken fans dancing in the aisle and managed to balance our food and drinks all the way down to the front row, where we found that five raging college guys had weaseled their way into our seats: that is, until security came down to tell the beboppers to bebop out of there. We finally had the chance to sit down and we celebrated by sinking into our first bites of our now-cold stadium food dinner.
Needless to say, the food was terrible but the concert was uhhh-mazing! U2 does a great job at raising awareness for worldly causes in addition to promoting groups like Amnesty International through their music and concerts. I’m a believer in supporting our global community, and I also believe in supporting the underprivileged children in the United States that don’t receive the proper health care, education, or domestic treatment. I’m mega grateful for Bono’s inner drive to over extend himself to reach out and help the people that really need it. He is a brave soul that deeply believes in service, which makes me really happy to see that so many young people idolize him. In the future, wouldn’t it be nice to see some rock stars advocating for some of the children who need help in the U.S.?
Now, because the drive home from the concert was a piece of cake and I have no great stories about driving down 95 South at midnight, let’s jump to the pictures! Remember, no cameras allowed in FedEx Field, so you get my BlackBerry camera phone pictures…. You lucky ducks! Enjoy!!
This entry was posted on Thursday, October 1st, 2009 at 7:27 am and is filed under Charity, Community, Events, Lifestyle, Music, Relationships, Social, Washington DC. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
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emily@mlestyle.com
That's awesome. I'm entertained,and I didn't get to see U2!
I'm glad I could spare you the three and a half hour traffic jam and the cold french fries! xx
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