Earth to Me

What were the odds of that summer happening? What were the odds of me, Tegan, Chuck, and Riley being called upon by Put’emup, Put’emup to work behind-the-scenes on their epic nationwide tour with Violence Ladies?

Well, okay…what were the odds of my entire life happening?

Not very good, I guess. Still, it was all lined up, our parents had given us their blessings (even though we were all still technically grown-ups, Tegan and I still felt obligated to ask), and we had a week of nothing before it was all supposed to go down.

I stayed home every day just to milk the little time I had with my dad, since to him it was basically like doing a summer semester of college. And I have to admit, for a while I felt guilty for just skipping town on him like that, but he kept assuring me that it was fine. I was gonna make money, he said. I was making friends, he insisted. Maybe he was telling himself those things more than me, but I still took it to heart whenever I felt guilty. I called him every night.

Still, he sighed a whole lot the day I had to head out. He had held me tightly around the shoulders in a hug that only he could give, mumbling things about peer pressure into my ear and telling me he was just a phone call away, which always applied, no matter the situation.

“Stay out of trouble!” he said sternly, though with soft eyes. “You are a smart young man. I trust you will make good decisions, mijo.”

“I will, trust me,” I kind of laughed. I doubted anything horrible would happen, but I still wanted to prepare myself just in case his worst fears would come true.

Dad stared me down with deep-set eyes, a smile still peeking out from beneath his five-o-clock shadow. His rough hands still on my shoulders, he quietly said, “I say this a lot, but I love you, mijo. You will be fine.”

I just nodded back at him, never completely used to the excessive affection (not that we ever minded), and I said, “Love you too, papá.”

And then I was on my merry way to the band’s apartment to pack into their tour bus.

On top of being away from my dad, it was a little awkward calling Subhero and telling them I wouldn’t be working there for the summer, especially since I had told them I’d be coming back, but overall, the preparations weren’t all that bad. I had a little suitcase full of clothes, a bag of bathroom stuff, and a sketchbook – it was all I needed. I didn’t even bring my mp3 player, since I knew I’d be listening to music nonstop.

I’m not sure how many preconceived conceptions I had of being on tour. Every so often I’d watch backstage videos of my favorite bands on Cooltube, watching them warm up before a show, and of course I knew what a merch guy was supposed to do. Tegan knew too, but the main problem I was facing was my horrible ineptitude with strangers.

Okay, I guess I had to overcome it to an extent the previous summer when working in foodservice, but it was still daunting. Tegan said I didn’t have anything to worry about and that she’d take the brunt of it all. Meanwhile, Chuck and Riley would basically be roadies, something that Riley often rejoiced about. (“My dream! It finally came true!” he had gushed, halfway sarcastic.)

When it all came right down to it, I was a middle-class suburban Mexican-American male, and Tegan was a white middle-class suburban homosexual female. We didn’t know the first thing about following a band when they were doing their actual job, and even though we’d seen our share of unique experiences, Put’emup, Put’emup’s point of view was definitely not one of them.

I caught glimpses of Put’emup, Put’emup’s lives back in 2011, but I had never really lived it the way they did. And I knew that I would just be a part of the team that kept their enterprise alive, though it still meant getting up-close and personal with a certain few celebrities who shared my lightning scars.

The Swing of Things Tour, as it was officially named, was set to start in Atlanta, Georgia, and the final show would be in Chicago. They chose Atlanta to be the first date because Put’emup, Put’emup’s co-headliners were Violence Ladies, who hailed all the way from Brunswick, Georgia and, well…ladies first. At least, that’s what they told us.

Just like any tour, they hyped it up on their social networking platforms, but I kept quiet about our involvement with it. I just didn’t think it was a necessity for me to brag not only about how I helped them put on one of the most monumental rock shows in existence last year, but how I was also just casually touring with them for the summer. Tegan had the same reasoning, but Riley went out of his way to post it all on Facenook, unlike Chuck, who also stayed quiet.

“TOURING W/ PUT’EMUP PUT’EMUP AS A ROADIE THIS SUMMER. CANT WAIT!!!!” he had announced on Facenook, gathering a whole buttload of likes. He had always talked about wanting to be one, but none of us ever really thought he was that serious about it. It was cool, though – no matter how you sliced it, we were all doing something we wanted to do.

Monday, June 24th was when it all started. That Wednesday would be the kickoff show in Atlanta, and since we had set off early in the morning on Monday, we’d have more than enough time to get into the groove…or, The Swing of Things, if we’re not afraid of using puns.

Both bands had just decided to rent out one big tour bus to cut down on expenses. During our time preparing for the end of the world, Put’emup, Put’emup had rented a private plane a few times, but since we were all gathered in the same place yet again, there was no need for that.

“We’ll be getting up-close and personal with each other! It’ll be great – I’m used to it with the others, but it’ll be a new experience with you guys!” Andy had said enthusiastically on the first day as we all hauled our crap into a storage compartment on the bus.

Riley muttered something about already getting close enough with them. (He and Chuck had to live with them for a good chunk of our preparation time. They knew it all too well.)

Soon enough, though, I had hugged my dad goodbye and I was officially set up to live the life of a rockstar.

Er, a merch guy.

Probably the furthest thing from being a “rockstar,” but I could definitely live with it if it meant staying out of the spotlight.

Anthony had told us that it was basically just like working in retail. Except sometimes the customers were drunk, and sometimes they could get pretty sexist or creepy. Tegan assured him that she could handle it and that she’d stand up to anybody who gave her crap, and right behind her, I said I could probably grow a pair and intervene if things got too crazy.

I’m not sure how much truth went into those words, honestly. Normally, my first instinct in an argument is to cry.

Well, before we knew it, the eleven-hour bus ride down to Atlanta had come to a close. After pulling over at a hotel to stay the night in Nashville, we had gone out to dinner and spent the night crowding each other’s hotel rooms (we were grouped up into fours – Put’emup, Put’emup, Violence Ladies, Put’emup, Put’emup’s horribly inexperienced crew, their older and more-adept crew, and Violence Ladies’ crew).

I met so many people that first day. Granted, the majority of my time was spent in the bands’ presences, since the other crews were sleeping, but I still shook hands with a lot of folks who knew the ropes – some of them were even older than the performers themselves, which I always thought was weird.

I never thought such a crowded tour bus could seem so…not-crowded. Then, I realized that while we were up and awake, that’s when the crew slept in the back. There were sixteen bunks, and although everyone in bands got a bunk alongside us newbies, there were only four left for the other crew, so they rotated.

The fact of the matter is that nothing too crazy had happened yet. Part of me thought that the bands felt like they were babysitting us, despite the fact that most of us were nineteen, and from some of the remarks I overheard from a few sound techs, we were still viewed as just kids.

I will be the first to say that yes, I still considered myself a kid and I definitely did not want to face the “real world” yet. But in that context – Rusty, their thirty-something lead sound tech had spat, “Why are these kids coming with us?” – it just felt like an insult.

(I’ve been called much worse, trust me. It still didn’t lessen the blow.)

Anthony had punched his arm and said, “Shut the fuck up.”

And none of us really knew why we were needed or called upon to help them out, although Chuck and Riley were told that a few extra hands onstage were always welcome. What happened to the other merch person? Were they fired? Why did they now need two people at the booth to sell shirts and CDs and stuff? I asked Mick at one point in the night at our first hotel, and he laughed.

“We’ve never had a permanent merch guy. We don’t know what it is, but we can’t seem to hold ‘em down,” he told me.

My first instinct was a nice, solid, “Oh sweet Jesus, what are they gonna do to us?” I put a filter on that and instead asked, “Why, what did you do to them?”

Mick cracked open a beer and sat down on the bed I was gonna share with Tegan. Both of the bands were in our room, chatting it up with each other. “They called us boring and just left. Couldn’t handle it.”

“Boring?” My mind snagged on the description.

He bit his lip and smiled at nothing, kicking back a sip. “Yeah, if you’re not destroying hotel rooms or bringing groupies back to the bus every night, I guess that means you’re a boring band. And if you don’t do drugs every night, then shit, you just ain’t livin’ life.”

“Well, you drink,” I hesitantly pointed out. That was a no-brainer. If I had to count how often I saw them get drunk at our gatherings, I’d lose count.

“And we’ve all smoked a few times when we were starting out, but we stay away from it nowadays. It’s all depending on who we hang out with,” he explained, stroking his beard. “Now, we’re lucky every time we tour with Violence Ladies. They’re straight-edge but they’re not assholes about it, so we’re not, like, pressured to do anything. We just…get drunk a lot. Nothing too serious.”

As if Mick had said some sort of hidden cue, Chance broke off from the crowd he was in and jumped onto the bed we were sitting on. After hopping a few times, he lay down on his back, his head poking over the edge to join the conversation. “Who gets drunk a lot?” he asked.

“We do,” Mick smiled. “Could be worse.”

“Oh, dude, remember when we toured with Matchboxingmatch in ’09? That was the worst,” Chance groaned. “Me and Anthony smoked enough to last us our whole lives.”

Okay, I could picture Chance lighting up a joint (is that even what they call it?), but to imagine Anthony doing it was a little weird. I just laughed quietly.

Mick slapped my back. “You’ll get into the groove. Whenever we tour with the girls, nothing too horrible ever happens. It’s when we do shows with, like, A Fine Murder – that’s when the pits get a little crazy and the fans kinda…um, rude.”

I always thought it was weird, some of the music choices when it came to certain tours. Minor headlines were made a few years back when they toured with A Fine Murder, an experimental metalcore band all the way from Spain – one of the mosh pits got so bad that a few people emerged with broken legs and ankles. Compared to those guys, Put’emup, Put’emup might as well have been the Goo Goo Dolls.

“We have nice fans,” Chance reassured me. “’Cause none of us are assholes. So we attract other people who aren’t assholes.”

That made sense, I guess. It didn’t help me sleep at night, but then again, neither did Tegan’s snoring and the fact that Riley kept farting in his sleep. Time would tell whether or not I’d make it out alive.

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“Number two, medium! And a number five, large – wait, I’m sorry, extra large? Extra large, Osh!”

I could barely hear Tegan over the roar of the pre-show crowd. Everybody who was worried that the merch booths would be sold out was thus making their way back into the corner of the venue where we were stationed next to Violence Ladies’ booth, which was run by just one middle-aged woman with tattoos all over. From what I could see, she was a seasoned veteran, running back and forth between shirt bins and customers, and even if our side was a two-person machine, we were still slower than her.

God, and the table looked so neat before doors opened, too…

Soundcheck went on for a few hours before seven, which was when doors opened, and during that time, me and Tegan set up with the help of Alexia, the other merch girl. T-shirts and albums lay scattered along the table and on the back bulletin wall where shirts and hoodies were hung, and price tags were pinned to everything. Such a meticulous display…and I was currently ruining it all in a panic.

Our first night was a rush of human interaction, but all in all, it could’ve been worse. Nobody was particularly snippy or rude to either of us, and I didn’t screw up anybody’s request.

It was all going peachy until, towards the end of Put’emup, Put’emup’s set (they went on after a nice, long Violence Ladies set), Anthony took the liberty of pointing out me and Tegan. Why? I don’t know. Don’t ask questions.

Breathless and sweaty after an energetic performance of their song, “Laughing in the Face of Company,” Anthony brushed his long hair back before going back up to the microphone. Along the sides of the stage, I saw Chuck scatter around, switching Chance’s guitar out for another one, and Riley tossed Mick a water bottle from behind it all.

“Alright, guys, this is the first night of what I can already tell is gonna be a fucking amazing tour. Now, if you didn’t already know, we’re Put’emup, Put’emup, and we’re from Chicago,” Anthony said, his breath heavy and his voice broken-in. “And we’re truly blessed to come along with our favorite girl punks and play shows with them. They’re old friends. Shit, I remember going to one of their shows with Andy when they came to Chicago one time in ’06 – I met Winter and I was so goddamn tongue-tied I don’t even remember what I said.”

He laughed and looked over at Andy, who was adjusting his microphone while one of the other roadies taped the cord down. “You said something stupid, I can tell you that much,” Andy gibed. (The looks they were giving each other, man. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say their relative friendliness toward one another was just weird.)

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway! I figure I should introduce a few new faces here with us tonight. We’ve got a few new crew members that you’re gonna be seeing a lot of, and if they look familiar, then obviously you’ve been with us since New Year 2012.”

Suddenly, my blood just completely ran cold. Me and Tegan, standing at an empty merch booth, just glanced at each other, but she had a smile on her freckled face; I knew I had gone pale.

“We’ve got our buddies Chuck and Riley as roadies-in-training up here, and I dunno where they are, but you’ll see ‘em around,” Anthony said, still catching his breath. “And all the way back there at our merch booth, right next to the lovely Alexia and Violence Ladies’ booth, are our new merch team, our very own Oshie and Tegan – say hi to everybody when you get a chance. These four are our little noobs. They’re our babies.”

“And if I remember correctly,” Andy jumped in, fanning himself with his t-shirt, “they’re also the same kids who helped us save the world last year.”

I don’t know why, but that prompted a giant applause that blew everyone away, especially me, and out of instinct I grabbed Tegan’s shoulder to steady myself. She looked up at me and grinned again, her tongue between her teeth.

The whole band was smiling just like her onstage, and for a moment I swear I locked eyes with Anthony. I know that’s hard to do in a crowded venue like that, but it happened. He was looking right at me, and even though I was scared he was saying all of it out of malice, just to taunt all of us, the look in his eyes was soft. He meant it all. They were glad to have us there. We weren’t just thrown together by some ridiculously disproportionate odds of the universe – we were friends. We stuck together even after it was all said and done.

The merch table was flooded again for a good hour after the show, but overall, like I’ve been saying a lot lately, it could have been much, much worse.