My Dog is Chelsea

Last week, Asa announced the following:

“We have plans on Sunday night,” he said. “It’s a surprise.”

Let me explain a little something about myself. If you happen to mention IAS (“it’s a surprise”) to yours truly, you effectively guarantee that I will speak of nothing other than the S in your presence until you finally spill the freaking beans and let me in on the secret.

Such was our household leading up to Sunday night, except that Asa never spilled any beans at all:

Me: Can you give me a hint?
Asa: I already have.
Me: When?
Asa: I can’t tell you that.
Me: Why not?
Asa: Because it’s a surprise.
Me: Well how am I supposed to do my work if it’s a surprise?
Asa: I think you’ll manage.
Me: I suddenly have a limp. Maybe you can help my leg by giving it a hint?
Asa: Try walking it off.
Me: Was that a hint?
Asa: No, I told you, I’ve already given you the hint.
Me: When?

By Sunday afternoon, I had narrowed down the S to three possible activities: 1) eating lots of chocolate 2) going rollerskating or 3) greeting a visiting friend from out of town.

I wasn’t allowed to look out the window on the way to The Surprise, but when the car finally stopped, I got out to discover I was only a block away from my former employer.

“I knew it! I just knew it! YOU’RE TAKING ME TO WORK,” I exclaimed, and truth be told that had actually been one of my guesses.

But, of course, the store was closed on Sunday night, and it wouldn’t have mattered anyway since FRIDAY WAS MY LAST DAY AT THE DELI. But the thing is, you see, my job was located in this old industrial area. Not much around but the Tazo Tea bottling plant and the Salvation Army warehouse. So where could Asa be taking me?

Well, folks. There is a music venue right behind the loading dock of my former employer, one that I would pass every single night on my way home. I never really paid much attention to it, of course, because the last thing on my mind after a tiring shift at the deli was an all-ages nightclub that doesn’t serve beer. Never paid any attention at all, which is why I had no idea that this band was coming.

We arrived early, and as we stood amongst the gargantuan crowd of heavily-eyeshadowed teenagers, it took me a good 15 minutes or so to figure out who were there to see. Then I spotted some merchandise with a familiar logo, and suddenly it made sense why Asa had been listening to the new OK Go album incessantly—it was my hint, staring me in the face and laughing, because for all my guesses —”We’re gonna play frisbee with a disk made out of chocolate in a giant vat of pudding, right?”—none ever came close to being related to the music we had been enjoying all week long.

THE SHOW ROCKED. We may have been the oldest kids in the crowd, but that didn’t detract from the energy and the brilliance of their performance. The lead singer, Damian Kulash, during a very emphatic cover of an ELO classic, crowd-surfed while singing, and when a girl threw her sweater on stage he said something to the effect of:

“Kids, come on. Do we need a lesson in rock and roll etiquette? You’re not supposed to throw sweaters—you’re supposed to throw bras. Tim [the bassist] needs them for his wardrobe—he’s running low. Raise your hand if this is your sweater.” He searched in the crowd for the girl it belonged to, and tossed it back. “Your mom wouldn’t be happy if you came home without your sweater, now would she?”

I bought a concert t-shirt, too, despite my recent realization that I own more shirts than I know what to do with and yet I don’t have a single pair of jeans that aren’t falling apart. And when the members of OK Go mingled with the crowd during the other band’s performance, I shamelessly joined the throng of pubescent girls clamoring to get shirts signed.*

Yes, it was a fun-as-hell show and a total freaking Surprise. How Asa managed to ward off my curiousity, I have no idea. But I’m glad he did—it made the night all the more better.

* It’s true. Not only am I nerdy enough to possess a concert t-shirt signed by a band, I am even nerdier because I wore it in public today.