The Best Show I Never Saw
The doors slammed shut, and with it, my hopes of seeing a once-in-a-lifetime show.
Last week, The Story So Far announced a show at a small bar in Brooklyn. No advance tickets, $10 cash only, 8 pm. For a band that now plays stadiums, I knew it might be the last chance to see them at a small venue like this.
I happened to have plans to spend a few days in New York the night of the show, which means I knew I had to try and make it. So I hauled my ass out to Bushwick and got there at 6 pm, as early as possible after work.
When I got there, the line already covered two sides of the block. I’d been to this venue before. I thought I would be on the cusp of getting in.
For two hours, I stood.
Over the minutes of boredom, of anticipation, of excitement, all of us strangers turned to each other.
“This could be the last chance to ever see The Story So Far without a barrier.”
“If we get in, we’ll be talking about this show for years.”
“They’ll have to personally tell me to go away.”
“We drove from Jersey for this.”
We formed a group of six: a couple from New Jersey, a punker who lives in Bed Stuy, his friend who joined us in line, a dedicated hardcore kid with baggy jeans and his moshing boots, who hauled over from Long Island to try and make it as early as possible. And me.
At first, we contemplated our chances.
“I looked up the fire code,” the punker said, “this building legally fits 250.” That’s more than I imagined.
We watched each others’ backs, as we took turns grabbing drinks or food. A local whose apartment we stood in front of bought us a case of water and beer in a moment of neighborly camaraderie.
As the clock ticked 8, the line inched closer to the entrance. Just as we rounded the final corner, our hopes were dashed.
At 8:30 they announced, “Doors closed, that’s it.” I watched a bar employee physically slam the doors to the bar. It was a symbolic gesture, and I could feel the collective dropping of stomachs and the look of disappointment in the line.
By then, I had seen the writing on the wall, but had to hold out to know with certainty.
It turns out, I wouldn’t talk about the time I waited in line for two and half hours to see The Story So Far at a small bar, mic grabbing and stage diving like it was 2011 and they were still a small band in Northern California.
But, I think I’ll still talk about the time I waited in line all that time, and still smiled at the journey of it all. It wasn’t until the line began to disband that we asked each other’s names. I’m sure I’ll see some of them at New York shows someday. When we meet again, I’m sure we’ll reflect with a hint of nostalgia about the time we waited for hours and didn’t get into the show.
