Concert Consternation

She is the epitome of the Greek version of The Voice, and she actually has been a participant/judge on that country’s show. She is Despina Vandi, the divine, and I follow her everywhere physically and in my heart and mind. She gives concerts around Europe and the venues vary from large stadia to smaller, more intimate nightclub spaces. She is wonderful in any locale, on any stage, in any city. Sometimes I don’t notice, but sometimes I do—the bathrooms are abominable, the toilets beyond positive compare. You crave US arenas when you encounter them.

At one concert in glorious Paris, I was dressed in very tight leggings and an over blouse embroidered with silk flowers. I had on lace-up booties and considerable silver jewelry of momentous size. I looked great. She would have been proud to see yet another fine fan in appropriate attire. I had been drinking a lot of soda for some reason, just because it was there, and soon needed to visit the little girl’s room.

Agh. It was awful. It reeked and had not been cleaned in centuries. The fixtures had been there for at least that long. Was this the famous concert hall of my dreams? There was somewhat of a crude stall with a door that banged open freely—alas, no lock. This was definitely one bathroom in need of some fancy new toilets. I pushed it forcefully and entered warily. Then I leaned against the door to keep it shut will trying to lower my stretch jeans. They wouldn’t budge. I only had one free hand as I was holding my suede bag in the other. No way could that tote touch the floor for even a second!

I worked and worked and the pants slid about an inch a minute, taking forever. At one juncture, they had reached a point of no return. My blouse was in the way, so I grabbed the sleeves, disengaged my arms, and tugged it over my head. My silver bracelet—chunky as it was—caught the threads in the decoration. Rip. The sound was threatening. I quickly brought the blouse back down to its original position and was afraid to look at the damage. At least nothing was showing—just a little loose thread.

Back to the pants. I let go of the handbag, and using both hands, was able to extricate myself from the clingy tight fabric. I was a sight to behold, and I imagine that was what others waiting in line were doing. Someone did help by rescuing my suede treasure however much to my delight.

After this ordeal, breathing hard, I returned to my seat having missed at least one song. I was disheartened but relieved. I did not go back. In spite of my great love for Despina Vandi, I am going to think twice about certain venues and especially drinking anything liquid before or during a show. I am going to be prepared and cautious about what I wear and bring along. No matter. It’s the music that counts after all.

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