…but before I get into those stories I have to tell you about this crazy girl (Drunky McTartlet) at work.
When I say crazy, you’re probably picturing a somewhat funny drunk girl, but I’m talking ‘off her meds crazy’ here. Tonight was the Craig Cardiff show at work and what a show it was. Not only was Craig a superb performer, more on his music later, but his openers, Krista Hartman and Carrie Hyrniw, were pretty good too. Craig a fantastic storyteller, and an excellent singer-songwriter. Each new song was introduced with the mmost memorable anecdote; I’m going to buy his album once I pay off my credit cards again.
The only way to describe his live show, I didn’t really get this feel from some of the songs streaming on his site, is to think about the first time you had sex with someone you really liked and had vowed to hold off until ‘the moment was right’. The music is both raw and tender, and even though you know you’ve never heards the songs before, they’re both familiar and comforting, but still exciting. You really don’t think it could get any better, and then he starts playing another song, it really just took my breath away.
So then, the end of his set approaches, and this girl comes running out of the crowd, and up onto the stage. Everyone in the audience kind of gasps, not really sure what to make of the situation, and she starts talking to Craig. He seems a bit surprised, but not really taken aback, so everyone just assumes that he might know this girl, maybe they went to college together, or they’ve met somewhere before. They chat, she requests a song, he starts to play it, and she tries to accompany him (badly I might add). She eventually gives up on this, and lets him sing and play the guitar while she drums away contentedly on stage.
I see our sound tech Cleopatra, and she jokingly thanks me for not stopping the crazy woman from running on stage. I’m kind of confused, as this is the first time that it occurs to me that maybe he didn’t know her after all. I overhear Cleo chatting with the bartender about how she’s been accosted by this woman several times over the course of the evening and found her hiding out in the green room not once, but twice, and how she jumps into the sound booth and starts asking Cleo to explain how ‘all this fun stuff works’. Cleo tells her politely that she does have a job to do, and if she could kindly get out of the sound booth, it would be greatly appreciated.
Apparently Drunky McTartlet (DM) has been consuming 0.5 litre carafes of red wine all night with her manfriend. I didn’t really think she appeared, or smelled for that matter, that drunk but whatevs. She proceeds to stick around, clamber up on stage a few times until cleo tells her that she should probably go. DM tells her sob story about how she was supposed to go to the show with her boyfriend, but he’s out of town so she went with a friend, and that she’s only really interested in an autograph from Mr. Cardiff. He kindly obliges, even though she drew him this creepy picture and doodled his name with flowers around it.
DM tries to leave but is inexplicably drawn to Mr. Cardiff and keeps coming back to just stand there and stare. We all kind of had work to do, so we couldn’t babysit her, but eventually, she was one of two patrons in the bar, the other one being her surprisingly indifferent friend. It finally dawns on me that this girl is mentally unstable, so I tell Cleo that’s she’s clearly someone who spends heer days talking to unicorns. Cleo then decides that she has to find out for herself, and asks the girl just that, to which she responds sincerely, ‘yes, I’ve been talking to them since I was a kid’. Um, wow!
DM had to be coerced to walk down the hall by yours truly, and when she got to the door, which I had forgotten to lock (oops!), I had to talk her down off the ledge. Her ring came flying off her hand since she was shaking them so forcefully at me because I was making her leave. This caused her to burst into tears, the whole while her friend is calmly calling a cab on his cell. I finally scream at him that he and his ladyfriend ‘need to get the fuck out of her, so I can leave!’ He seems unfazed and putters around looking for her missing ring, which she claimed just fell off and was NOT staged. I finally manage to get her out the door, and promptly lock them behind her, pick up the ring, and shove it in the guy’s (who’s still talking on the phone) palm. They leave together.
Something didn’t really sit right with me after they left, so I called Campus Security to look into her strange behaviour, only because buddy was so utterly disinterested in his alleged friend’s plight.
On to the topic of ‘sorority closeness’. This term can be attributed to one of Pancake’s friends. one night during December finals, Pancake went out to the bar with some girls from school. Waffle and I were super bored and ended up just hanging out in her room and locating stuff on Google Local. At around 11pm we decided that it would be hilarious if we got really drunk and crashed their party at the bar, so we walked to the liquor store and Pita Pit because we realised we hadn’t eaten and came back home to start drinking. Long story short, we ended up not going out or drunk and just decided to wait up for Pancake to get home. We went to bed at around 3:30am, still no sign of Pancake, I retired to my bedroom.
Pancake eventually returns home, and the two girls that she went out with as well as Waffle end up sleeping over. The next morning, we’re having breakfast and one of her friends pipes up and asks Waffle where her room in hte house is. Waffle is kid of confused and states that she actually doesn’t live in the house, ‘why would I sleep in someone else’s bed if I lived here and had my own bed?’ she asks. The girl is dumbfounded, and replies ‘I dunno, sorority closeness’.
So I’m at work today and I work with a girl who’s in another sorority on campus. We chatted up a storm for a good 4 hours – it was a pretty slow night, folk-lovers don’t tend to be heavy drinkers. We talked about everything imaginable, right down to allergies, shopping, sorority activities, and good books we’d read recently. I’ve worked with this girl for a little over a year, and not once have we had an in depth conversation. The funny thing is, that even though we clearly bonded, if I were to run into her on the street and either of us had our sorority sisters with us, we would barely acknowledge that the other existed or that we had any intimate knowledge of the other one’s life story.
An example of the situtation: She was leaving work one day, probably a year ago now, and some of her sorority sisters had come by to hang out/pick her up. As she’s leaving she passes me in the hall and says bye. Her sisters immediately whip their heads around, look to look at her (as if she’s broken some cardinal rule), glare at me (for causing this egregious breach of code), and then back at her as they pick up the pacc in order to avoid a possible conversation with a rival sorority member.
Girls are so stupidly competitive with each other that the mere fact that we’re in rival sororities can affect friendships. I worked with a girl over the summer that is coincidentally my co-workers little sister in the sorority, and even though we spent 12-14 hours a day together, plus some nights and weekends since we had mutual friends, we never talk anymore – because it just wouldn’t look right, and the girls in her sorority might talk. We saw her at a Greek event earlier this year, and she just averted her eyes. Pancake likened it to the Breakfast Club. We’re all so caught up with our perceived differences that we fail to recognize the inherent similarities. Even though they were finally able to drop the stereotypes and enjoy each other as whole people, you know on Monday, none of them acknowledged each other in the hall. They went about with their own separate lives and acted as if Saturday morning’s bonding session never happened. It’s kinda sad really.
UGH! We can be so dumb sometimes…
p.s. The term DM came from Craig’s website. I checked it out to link to it, and he had just posted a blog entry referencing her as such, lol. Also, I strike my co-workers as someone who be really into classic rock, um right. Oh and the term ‘folk nazi’ came from one of Craig’s anecdotes about being late for a gig at a churn in Minnesota.