Viva La Gloria I: World Tour

Breakfast with the Regulars

Today: it would be better than yesterday. And yesterday was pretty damn good. But these days the next is always better than the last. I walked casually about the backstage scene when the area was vacant. Pretending for a bit that I actually belonged there. That I was there for more than an mere autograph. Like an guitar tech, or something like that. I'd never be cool enough for a job that awesome. Even though it would be an absolutely mindless job to do, I still can't shake the nagging suspicion in the back of my head that I'd still screw it up.
That'd have to be my answer for now. At some point this morning, someone had ordered in catering for breakfast. Rather than the normal poptart and cereal routine that Green Day was probably used too, they got all this fancy food that I don't even have names for. Of course there was your common oranges and bananas in an woven basket. But the cooks had totally fucked up the pancakes and waffles. I not really sure what the green blotches were throughout the crispy cakes. And I'd rather not find out first hand. Thing is, is that I didn't. I'd been hanging out behind the tall guitar rack concealing me from unwanted eyes, when I heard Tré sputter in disgust. I peeked around the corner to see what was up.
Tré was scraping bits of waffle off his tongue with both hands until it was pure of the abomination of an waffle.
His cutting glare turned to who must have been the cook. An tall girl with tattoos and unnaturally red hair leaned against the table grinning at him.
“What the fuck is that?!” he hissed, pointing at the bits of waffle on his plate.
“Its an broccoli waffle.” she said matter-of-factly.
Tré's glare eased up “Oh well that's brilliant!” he said with acid dripping sharp sarcasm.
She rolled her eyes “Tré, I've told you many times. Vegetables, particularly broccoli, is good for you!” she poked his shoulder. He didn't grin or move. Just glare down at the plate until he made an safe reach for an muffin.
“Careful.” she called over her shoulder as she walked away “It's got blueberries in it. And well, that's just too close. And! They're good for you!” she sang.
Tré pouted and dropped it on his plate. Slowly pulverizing it with his fingers. Crumbling it to bits.
I hid my laughter and turned around again. Gawking down at the broccoli waffle I'd smuggled earlier. I think that I'll pass. I pitched it in a high arc in the air. It landed soundlessly in the trashcan ten feet away. The Green Day guys were to enveloped in their conversation to notice the flying waffle. I'd already gone shaken away the dream from last night. But it was still nagging me in the back of my mind. I pushed it from my thoughts and concentrated on today. I had already come up with my plan for how things will go, tomorrow afternoon we're heading to Austen.
I stood around like I belonged, but always staying out of view. Trying to come up with more hiding places or something else to do to avoid the closet again. By the time this whole thing is done, I probably will be claustrophobic. I shivered and looked down at the concrete floor. Then down at my shirt. I've been wearing it for literal days. I decided I'll change into something spiffy after the Austen concert was out of the way. I pulled my backpack back over my shoulder to go walk around outside. It will be an safe walk up, and down the sidewalk on Times Square.
I'd need some proof that I was actually to these places eventually. So I went in search of some souvenirs. Id have the ticket stub from Denver, the scars from wriggling in under the fence at New Watt. But here? There's an whole world of proof right here. I walked through the cozy ticket booth room again to get back to the street. When I'd left, Green Day and stage techs were setting up. They should be all ready to go by the time I get back. The show is at seven tonight. I shouldn't be gone long.
It was nice not to have to duck behind every dumpster and mail bin I passed to avoid being seen. I was free to walk alone up the street. Passing many busy shops and not finding anything of interest. The thoughts that raced through my head were telling me that I could just go talk to Billie and the others at any given time. But I've worked far too hard and long to get to this point to cave and not get an ride home because they'll be so damn wary, peeking in the closet every five seconds. I think that I'll just take my chances and continue to ride the Green Day express until Los Angles. Then I wont be half way across the US. And I'll be closer to home.
I looked up at an music store. I looked around myself, unaware exactly how far I'd gone. I walked an crowded boulevard. I figured that surely the store was less crowded then the streets. I pulled open the door and walked in. The air conditioning cooled your skin from the hot day outside. I wasn't even to Texas yet and already regretting not packing shorts. Only the necessities. I walked around the door. Practically every album from every artist was here. I flipped through the Evanescence Cd's, then poked around the Paramore and Linkin Park. I don't have much money to blow on Cd's, as much as I'd like too, I can't bring myself too. I hung around the store for an hour. Talking to a few Green Day fans that had noticed my shirt. After those conversations ended, I walked out the door up the street again while the friendly chime sounded behind me. It was probably an mile I'd walked. I put in my headphones and chose the alternative Green Day album, Foxboro Hot Tubs, Stop, Drop and Roll. I turned on Mother Mary and walked cheerily up the street. I don't know why, but the song always made me happy. I walked slowly so I could at least listen to it on loop a few times.
When I reached the huge building again, I opened the door and this time didn't spare a single glance at the people that hung around. Only now there were a few punky looking ones. Wearing Operation Ivy t-shirts or Green Day ones. Skinny jeans and boots and one girl had dyed her hair green. That was beyond obsession.
I pulled open the door and continued on my merry way down to the stage without being seen. Slinking through the shadows. More people hung around the front then yesterday. Bit like yesterday, I slid past them to the backstage. Green Day stood right in front of the door I'd need to get back into the dressing room back to my hiding place in the closet. This place was so clean! There was no where to hide back here. I grumbled and ducked behind Tré's drum set and got lost in the shadows. I stood practically behind them. Ready to slid in the door when they'd move.
“Hey guys! Come here!” Rob Cavallo called from the stairs to the stage. Waving at them. They followed without another words, and for me, I slinked in soundlessly as planned. Going straight for my closet.
I closed the door behind me and sat down on the floor in the reveling darkness.
I checked the clock again two hours later. I'd slipped in and out of awareness for a bit and would eventually need to get lost when Tré is prepping for the show and opens the door to get an shirt...
It was five. Almost time. But regardless, I got out and grudgingly made my way for the door. I cracked it open to see my surroundings first. When it was Absolutely silent, I tiptoed to the right. Where trunks of stage props and stuff were. I could walk around this place much more easily if I'd wear an disguise until it was show time. I put on an dark brown wig. Arranged it until it looked real, then pulled an leather jacket over the top of my American Idiot shirt. So no one would know. Then I walked casually about. Sneaking an look in the mirror. You'd actually believe that this was my natural hair it looked so good.
I walked up toward the stage. Still acting sneaky out of old habit. When an hand landed on my shoulder.