The Big Red X: And other adventures on the Hill

The day was long, extremely long. It was the kind of day that went on for what seemed like ever and ever. I could have left the office at 3:00, but having gone to get coffee with a co-worker and having seen the parking lot we call the 520, decided to stay in the office till my official leave-time of 6:00. There were really only a few things that needed to get done yesterday, so I spent most of my time watching Youtube videos, checking out band's Myspace pages and replying to blogs on threeimaginarygirls.com.

But 6:00 did come around, and I still sat in parking-lot traffic to return to the land of Ballard an hour later. Elliott, my roommate (and super-cool dude) got home a little bit later and he nestled up to the nipple on his Sparks as I drank wine like an Italian hooker (yeah, I don't know what that means either. Metaphors...)

We had plans, though. Those "plans" later turned into The Plan.

First things first. Elliott's birthday was on Monday. Elliott has a kick-ass blog. Check it out. Today Elliott will be writing about the same circumstances I'm about to write about from a different perspective. So check it out. Seriously.

For Elliott's birthday, I told him I'd pay his way in to see CSS play at Neumo's. I could have bought tickets, in fact I was on the website, ready to purchase tickets, but I decided to be cheap, not pay the surcharge, and pay instead at the door. I can't even name the countless shows I've attended at Neumo's where you could still get tickets at the door. We arrived there only an hour after doors had opened. A half hour before the first band was to go on. The show was sold out. I felt like a total douche.

So we go in the new Moe's bar (previously the Bad Juju, previously the entrance to Neumo's) and get a drink. The bar is very well styled, mirrors and lamps making the space elegant, booths for large groups of people, no more mermaid mural, and a well layed out space that gives the illusion of it being bigger than it is. Summed up, Moe's is the bar for hipsters who, five years (approximately) from the opening of Neumo's, got good jobs and more money.

Elliott and I sit in Moe's, discussing this, before we decide to see what's going on at the Comet, find a Stranger to see what else is going on (Chop Suey perhaps?) or go to the Sattelite for drinks. We decide on the Sattelite. On our way there, though, we pass Havanna's, and I have a plan.

Last year I worked for Bumbershoot. While there I met many people who do lots of interesting things in the city. Two people I met co-own Neumo's. One of the owners also owns Havanna's. So I go in there, thinking I have an off chance of running into him and seeing if he can do anything for Elliott and my ticket dilema. He's not there.

But some hats are. There's all these hats, and nice hats, sitting around the bar. I go to get a drink and ask the bartender, "What's with the hats?" She says it's a promo, and they're free. Sweet! Elliott gets himself a sweet hat. I have to try on a whole bunch because I have a freakishly tiny noggin, but finally get what Elliott calls the "Brando when he's eating tomatoes and getting chased through the laundry by that kid" hat. Score.

Now that we have our hats, what to do about the rest of the night? We go to the Sattelite to take a look at a Stranger and see what's going on.

The Stranger reports that there's a dance party at Chop Suey. Nope. The Cops are playing at the Comet. Maybe. And, besides that, there's not much going on. So we go back to Neumo's.

Elliott asks the girl at the box office if there've been any tickets arise. There hasn't. We're standing there, standing there, standing there for quite a while until Elliott says, "What the hell are we doing?" I say, "Follow me. I have a plan."

"Where are we going?" Elliott asks because I'm walking with purpose down the sidewalk.

"QFC," I say. Why?

The Plan

Because we need supplies. You see, while it seemed like I was waiting around, seeing what was happening, I was scouting out people's wrists. They had on a green wristband with VIP printed in intermixed black and white. All we needed was some kind of green band. We found it right away. On a kite.

One kite. One Sharpie. One bottle of Whiteout. One roll of packing tape. We're in business.

We pay for it and get to work. We go over to a table at the Starbucks Kiosk, which is now closed down, tear the streamer off the kite. I write VIP in white and black. Two times. And tape them to our wrists. All the while we're laughing like we just did a bunch of coke, and who knows what we're up to. People walking by probably thought we were nuts.

On our way back I say, "Just do what I do."

We hold back for a second, wait, throw our cigarettes on the ground, then go. The bouncer is checking IDs, I walk behind them, flashing my bracelet quickly. "Where's your stamp?" the bouncer asks.

Shit.

I shrug. He asks to see my ID. I show him. He gives it back. He asks to see my wrist. I pull up my sleeve, keeping my hand over the fake wristband. He says, "No under it."

Shit.

I cover it with my fingers, and pretend like I'm lifting it. I feel the tape slip. He stamps my wrist. I'm in. I can see the light (stage lights) at the top of the stairs and all I have to do is climb to freedom. Elliott's getting his ID checked. I know we're in, and I'm playing it cool, but kinda want to jump up and down and yell out, "Fuck yeah." Then I see the bouncer talk into his walkie talkie.

Shit.

Another bouncer arrives. The bouncer who checked our IDs tells this newly arrived bouncer to check our wristbands, mine falls off. He says, "That's not going to work." And Elliott just gives the bouncer the it-was-worth-a-try look, and the bouncer says, "Let me see your wrists." So we put out our wrists, both thinking he was going to give us a "nice try" freebee, but instead, in slow motion he puts a big red-Sharpie Scarlett-letter X on our wrists. We're not welcome.

So we go to Linda's. Have one more beer, then head back to Ballard where we perfect our "Smooth Criminal" lean with our super-sweet hats.

Happy Birthday, Elliott.