The Get-Go [Ashton Irwin]

01: Get Out

    "Look, I'm supposed to be back here, honestly!" I explain, for about the eighth or possibly thousandth time that night, though this was the first time the security officer didn't look like he thought I was a terrorist, or something. And I mean, I'm not, but if I were, I'd probably would've figured out a better place to terrorize than a mediocrely-sized concert venue, packed to the rafters with preteens and their moms.

    Not that those are the only people that come to shows, obviously, there are normal people – teenagers, some twenty-something's that actually like the band other than the fact that some trashy mag dubbed them 'Rookies of the Year'. There's also people like me, though, people that come because they kind of have to.

    Speaking of which, I glance at the clock, and internally grimace at the time. Ten minutes late.

    I'm not someone who's all that invested in timeliness or even really an advocate for keeping time, but tonight's sort of an exception… my boyfriend and I had a slight… dispute about how I'm never on time, and how just once, it would be nice if I were ready for bus call on time, so he and everyone else didn't have to panic and waste time looking for me around the venue. And I had every intention of trying this one time, but I really had to fucking pee, which, yeah, I could probably do on the bus, but it's nice to use a bathroom where it's pretty much a guarantee that no-one's peed all over the place because the driver slammed on the brakes and sent the peeing person flying mid-stream.

   You may laugh, but it's happened to one of the guys. It took two rolls of paper towels and the better half of a can of air freshener to get rid of the evidence. Psychologically, I’m pretty sure Cal still hasn't really lived it down.

    I'm digressing. I do that a lot, but you know… it happens. Anyways, I went to the bathroom, did my thing, came out, and started heading for the exit, a good half-hour ahead of schedule. The band was still at a meet and greet session outside, so aside from the driver, Mario, I would be the first on the bus – no way Ashton could get annoyed with me for that, right?

    Well, it would've been right, assuming he hadn't texted me and asked for me to check their dressing room to see if he'd left his stupid hoodie on the sofa. Since I love him, and he gets somewhat irritable when he's cold, I did. That's where my problem started. It turns out, security still patrols the venue, even after the act is outside. And it also turns out that they still like to check for ID badge - a lanyard, with a plastic card attached, which has your name, your photo, and your position on it, at the very least. Then, you're supposed to have your driver's license or whatever so they know you are who your tour ID says you are. Every tour has their laminate ID, and mine for this one just happens to be… well, I don't actually remember where I put it, but obviously, it's not on my person, because now the fucking venue rent-a-cops have detained me in a back room.

    As lame as name-dropping is, I've gotta do it; there's no way in hell this asshole is going to let me out of there any other way. So I clear my throat, interrupting the slightly nice-ish one muttering something to the marginally less nice-ish one who originally stopped me. Dick.

    "Look, can I level with you guys?" Nice Guy blinks, which probably means 'why the fuck not? I'm getting paid by the hour', and I don't even bother looking to Dick for confirmation. He isn't the one in charge here; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. "I'm with the band, okay? My boyfriend, Ashton, he's the drummer. Really tall? Sort of curly dirty-blonde hair? Hazel-green eyes? Kind of looks like a ten-year-old sometimes?"

     Dick snorts, which sends his second chin jiggling in the most obscene way. "Sure, honey. You and half of the rest of the girls that were in here tonight."