Guest Post: The Descendents Show That Never Happened by Abby Weitz
I’ve been a fan of The Descendents since I was fifteen, playing shows in basements, sneaking into New York City bars when you could still smoke inside. I couldn’t decide whether I was a hippie or a punk rocker. I was too busy obsessing over my new favorite band of the month whenever they came to town.
A few years ago, my friend Luisa and I heard that The Descendents were coming back to New York to play at Roseland Ballroom, so we made a pact to attend.
We had big plans to drink vodka to the point of [oblivion] at my place beforehand and then head to the show together.
On the night of the concert, Luisa was running late as usual, so we decided to meet inside Roseland. With the time I had left before the show, I made myself a few stiff vodka sodas and thrashed around my apartment in my underwear to my favorite Descendents album, Milo Goes To College. Before I knew it I was drunk and running late, so I threw on clothes and hopped in a cab. As I was going inside, I was asked to open my bag for the security guy who proceeded to search me so thoroughly you’d think I’d had “Kitten Smuggler” tattooed on my forehead. “Relax, dude, no one is trying to smuggle kittens into a Descendents show,” I thought to myself.
All of sudden the bouncer pulled out my bottle of Xanax. He then told me I couldn’t bring it inside and that he had to discard it. At that point, I lost my shit. “Look at the fucking label!,” I screamed. “It says my name on it, I have a prescription! I have a fucking anxiety disorder! You can’t take my medication away from me, I will sue you!” He brought over his superior who told me to stop screaming and asked for my ID which matched the name on the bottle and they let me in with my Xanax and vodka buzz. Okay, it was a little bit more than a buzz.
I went inside, found Luisa and couldn’t even tell her about my traumatic Xanax situation because I was smacked in the face by a heat wave.
It must have been 100 degrees in there. I needed a drink and I needed it now. Luisa went to go hold us some spots towards the front while I got us drinks.
I was walking back to find Luisa when the band started playing. I couldn’t find her in the crowd, and I started to panic. We were so excited to see The Descendents together, and now she was lost in a sea of dirty punks.
I shrugged it off and thought, “Well, it’s hot as hell in here and now I have two drinks, this kind of works out better.” I squeezed through the mass of people and found a spot somewhere in the middle of the floor. Many angry faces were made towards me, the six-foot-tall, giant Amazon suddenly blocking their view. “Sorry, I lost my friend,” I screamed behind me, but one little shit was not having it.
An Avril Lavigne-esque, wannabe-punk, chicken nugget that I could have easily thrown across the room, pushed me so hard that I spilled one of the drinks all over myself. Thank God the other drink was saved because I would have smashed that little cockroach with my foot.
I got in her face and said to her, “Look at the size of me and look at the size of you. Do you really want to do this right now?” I have never been arrested and wasn’t trying to start that trend at the sweet and tender age of 23. The nugget’s boyfriend pulled her away and they disappeared into the crowd. I downed my drink and went back to the bar.
There was a guy there that looked really familiar. We made eye contact and I thought, “How in the world do I know this guy?”
Holy shit. It was the best friend of my psycho, stalker ex-boyfriend. After we broke up, I’d had to set up a special service on my cell phone account to block his number. My heart was racing and I started sweating even more than I already had been, being in this sauna of a venue. All I could think was, “What if my ex is here? What if he tries to kill me in this crowd of people? No one would even know!”
Turns out he wasn’t there, and his friend was surprisingly cool. He bought me a shot and informed me that he and my ex really weren’t as close as I’d been told in the past. Problem solved.
I bought two more drinks and headed back to the floor, where I picked up a bearded, homeless-looking guy. While making out with him, I started wondering if he had ditched his cardboard box of a home on the side of the stage. The show ended and he followed me outside where we proceeded to make out again. When I opened my eyes and saw what I was face to face with, I bailed. I called Luisa who eventually found me outside and said, “Wasn’t that the best show”?
“Do you have a toothbrush on you?” I responded, disgruntled.
To this day, I still tell people that I’ve never seen The Descendents because I honestly don’t remember hearing one song. I still sometimes have nightmares about bearded chicken nuggets.
Abby Weitz is the lead singer of the indie band Wise Girl. Follow her at the following links: