Sunday, May 01, 2005

Getting the Coldplay shoulder

I just got home after a night on the town and it's 4 a.m. That's a bit unusual in California, where the bars close at 2 a.m., and it was definitely an unusual night.

I met up with 4 friends for dinner. It was something of a going away dinner for a friend and colleague who is moving to Northern California.

The five of us were going to meet at the restaurant, but our guest of honor and her driver were late. So the other three of us check in for our reservation and are seated. All was going well and we were chatting, but there was a glitch.

We were dining at a Japanese teppan yaki restaurant, where the chef's cook in front of you. If you've ever been to one of these places, you may know that if you have a small party, you end up sitting that this table, which surrounds a grill, with other people. And the chef comes and cooks at the teppan grill for everyone at once. Well, two of our party were not there, but we had been seated, and a family of 4 was at the other end of the table.

Eventually, the staff comes and tells us that if our whole party is not there, we will have to surrender our table to other customers. So, we do our walk of shame back to the lobby, and eventually go wait outside. Our other dining companions show up a few minutes later and we are reseated at another table. We have a nice meal and pleasant conversation and decide after dinner to go out for a drink.

One of the people in our party checks her cell phone and there is a message from one of her coworkers saying she should come to this bar in the neighboring city because she has a tip that the band Coldplay may show up there. The tip sounds implausible to us, but not impossible, because after all Coldplay is in town (or in our area any way) to play at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival. We figure we were going to go out for a drink anyway, and it's a bar that we like, so what the hell. So we go. Or four of us go. One of our party also got a call on his cell during dinner and has a hookup planned, so he bails on us. Whatever.

So we go to this bar and meet up with a couple of our friend's coworkers there. The rumor is that the band will be coming by after their set at the Coachella. Their ETA: about 12:30 a.m. So, we hang out for a while, but the bar is pretty dead, so we decide to move over to the Yard House. And the friend who's coworkers we met's boyfriend meets us there. So we drink and chat there, and about midnight the one friend and her boyfriend decide to leave. And about 12:30, I decide that as unlikely as it may be that Coldplay will show up at this other bar, I will be kicking myself if they do and I wasn't there, so I head back to the other bar, where I meet up with my friend's two coworkers who are still hanging out waiting for Coldplay to show. So we wait, and we drink, and we chat. And we wait. And wait. And about 1:30 a.m., the bar's phone rings with word. They are on their way.

So a buzz goes through the small crowd. So the owner of the place, who's table I was hanging out beside on the patio with my friend's friends, says at 2 he has to close the place. But he has a plan. Everyone can go inside, and they'll close the doors and dim the lights, but people can still hang around.

So, at 2 a.m., the owner, Eddie, movies everyone inside. And sometime thereafter there is another call. Part of the entourage is close. They'll be there in 5 minutes. It's more like 15, but a group of 6 to 8 people shows up. What their connection is to the band, or the bar owner, I don't really know, but these people show up. So we hang out some more. And as the evening wears on, one of the guys, who seems to be the key connection to Coldplay, sends a text message to find out where the band is. It seems the band got lost somewhere in the La Quinta/Indio area, but they were supposedly coming.

But after a while, even many of the hardcore crowd start trickling out, including one of my friend's coworkers.

So, there I sit, at 3 a.m., talking to this bar owner that I just met and a friend of a friend who I had just met as well who seemed convinced that my name is something other than what it is. Now, I have to work today. So, finally, at about 3:40 a.m., I decide, Coldplay or no Coldplay, I need to go home, so I make my exit and head for home.

If I find out later they showed up, I may still kick myself. But shit, I figure I put in my time based on a flakey rumor. I didn't need to see Gwyneth Paltrow's husband that bad. Hell, I'll just listed to him on CD.

But I do need to figure out who Coldplay's managers are and send them my bar bill for reimbursement. With an added charge for sleep deprivation of course.


Monica said...

Good posting.

I lived in Northern California several years but occasionally would go down to the LA area for work-his-military so I would play or mine-DA's office so I would work--THEN play. LOL.

Like the blog. Have a great day!

kat said...

My friend lives a block from Chris and Gwenyth's townhouse in New York, and we were walking by one evening when we see - honest to God - Chris Martin passed out on the stoop. And at the precise moment that we're walking by the steps, my heel gets caught in a crack in the sidewalk; as my foot jerks loose from my shoe, I let out this loud squeal while I lose my balance, which wakes Chris up. He glared at me, let out a string of Britishisms, and ran inside.

Brat said...

I think we have a groupie on our hands! You might want to take this quiz!

ERL said...

once i waited for a half and hour in a bar to see andy garcia. why? i have no idea.

Tisha from Texas said...

The closest we get to a celebrity down this way is an old high school buddy of my hubby's, Tracy Lawrence. He plays in their hometown every June so we get the pleasure of hanging out backstage with the country western groupies. Nothing like a bunch of overweight hussies wearing tight Wranglers OR Rocky Mountains. Is it crass to point out the obvious camel toe? I try not to laugh directly at them. What do I wear? Usually shorts or capri pants. But then, I have an affinity for high water pants.

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