Prince Concert Encounter

Nights like the one I just had are why I started this blog.  My days just always seem to go a little bit differently than most people’s do.

I went to see Prince at The Forum in Inglewood for his 21 Nite Stand / Welcome 2 America Tour.  He was playing all weekend but I was supposed to be in San Jose on Saturday and Sunday following and I lost count of how many shows Prince had already done so I bought a ticket for Friday thinking it might be my last chance.

My Thursday leading into Friday was wacky to say the least and I didn’t get much sleep.  I didn’t really feel like going to the show but what if I didn’t go and Prince didn’t perform any more shows for TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS?!  I would be devastated.

I get myself out of bed around 2pm.  The show starts at 7:30pm but, in truly cheap fashion, I refuse to drive to Inglewood and pay $20 to park when my ticket to see Prince was $25 including all taxes and fees.  Not happening.  Luckily for me, the 212/312 bus goes right from Hollywood to the Forum.  1 bus.  $1.50 to get there and another $1.50 to get home.  That is much more my speed.  And best of all, no gas used from my car.  I pulled up Google maps on my phone and checked it against actual Google maps and the Metro trip planner.  Everyone was in agreement, the 212/312 would do it.

Now, I had a sneaking suspicion that getting to the venue by a single bus would be too easy so I brought some extra money but the goal was 1 bus there and 1 bus back.  I waited at Hollywood and Vine for the 212/312 and around 5:15pm I see the 312.  This might not be so hard after-all.  But it’s the Short Line.  I ask the bus driver if he goes to the Forum, he doesn’t.  I wait.

15 minutes later I see another bus and it’s the 212!!!!  I ask the bus driver if he goes to Manchester/Prairie stop and he says no. Ugh.  He tells me just to get on.  It’s a lovely bus ride.  It drops me off right near the Forum.

Earlier in the day, I was not so excited.  I was having a low day and if you’re going to see Prince – having never seen him before but assuming – you need to upbeat, alert, ready to dance and feeling very, very sexy.

I did not feel sexy.  But approaching the Forum and listening to “Sexy MF,” my mood began to turn.  PRINCE!  I’ve loved Prince since I came across the video for “Diamonds & Pearls” video on MTV and found myself wondering why, at 7 years of age, I think I thought that I was attracted to this man.  It was a very confusing time for me.  I didn’t know what to do.  He looked so thin and tiny.  Not much bigger than I was.  It was weird.  Nothing was tingling but my heart was probably beating a little faster.

The show was phenomenal.  He commanded the audience exactly like you would expect Prince to do and he gave a performance that put performers have his age to shame.  The man is (now) 53 years old!  I still don’t believe that for a second.

I’m sad the audio on this isn’t better but it gives you a sense of the energy in the room.

Now earlier in the show I had mapped my return home.  I could either take the 212/312 like I had down or I could walk a ways and take the 210 closer to home.  I turned off my phone and continued to enjoy the concert.  At the end they pulled people by the stage up to dance with him and I was very very jealous.  There was a much older woman, probably at least 10 years Prince’s senior, putting women a 1/3 of her age to shame with her energy and dance moves. I don’t know how I paid $25 for that ($26.50 with my bus fare!) but I’m so thankful that Prince set that price.  At this point, I pull out my phone because I know that if I want to take the 212, I have to be out of there by 12:05am.  My phone tells me it’s 11:30pm and then dies.  Why?  I DON’T KNOW.  Because the universe loves to prove Murphy’s Law?

This person calls this the “panty-dropping” version of “Little Red Corvette.” An interesting way to put it but I’m not going to disagree.

The show appears to have ended though Prince has already done 3 encores at this point and I just have to choose.  It was an amazing show for $25 and going out on “Nothing Compares 2 U” is a great way to go out so barring he comes back and plays an additional 2 hour set or a 30 minute version of “Sexy M.F.” I can consider the night a success.

Absolutely nothing compares to Prince

I head to the bus stop and get there about 11:46pm.  Relief.  There’s plenty of time for the bus, doesn’t matter if my phone is dead and I see more people pouring out of the venue and know that Prince is done for the night. I didn’t miss any of it.

An older woman sits next to me and says she is also waiting for the 212.  She’s adorable and friendly so we talk about the show.  She has a contagious laugh and an incredibly bright smile.  She’s awesome.  At around 11:56pm she tells me she doesn’t think the 212 actually originates here this late at night.

???

She doesn’t even really pause on it, just tells me, pulls out a schedule and says the 115 can take us down to where it originates.  She is correct.  It doesn’t originate here.  I tell her I need to find where it does originate and somehow she convinces me that if I just sit here, we’ll be fine.  We wait. Again I think I should maybe find my way further down the 212 line and she tells me to wait and she’ll pay for my bus transfer.  I don’t need to her to pay it but clearly she doesn’t want me to leave and I’d feel bad leaving her here.  We wait.  A 115 bus never comes.  But two twentysomethings from South Africa do.  They sit next to us.  Now it’s past midnight and I don’t have a phone that works to call a cab.  Soon most of the bus lines will be stopping for the night and I am so far from home.

It's not a bad drive but it ain't around the corner

The older lady makes eye contact with the South Africans and they ask us if we’re waiting for the 212.  The older woman explains what we’re doing.  I explain what I’d like to do.  It turns out that the South Africans are also trying to get back to Hollywood and their phones are dead too.  Thankfully, at the suggestion of the South Africans, the older woman agrees that we should look for an alternative way home instead of sitting at the bus stop.

We walk up and down the sidewalks in front of The Forum.  We speak to some parking attendants that have no idea of the bus situation except that they’ll be stopping soon for the night.  We continue to walk and discuss options.  We do actually scan the parking lot because someone has to be going back to Hollywood but 3 people is a car load in itself.  Nobody’s driving a minibus.  The South Africans and I would really rather not cab it back to Hollywood because strangely enough, in a city where everyone drives and everyone is usually drinking, cabs are not a cost-effective alternative.  You don’t just hail a cab in Los Angeles if you’re cold or tired or scared or drunk.  It’s a financial undertaking and more than a handful of drivers will try and guilt you for paying with a credit card.

The older woman tells us that the 210 picks up at Crenshaw and will take us straight to Hollywood.  A parking attendant tells us Crenshaw is about a mile walk and it shouldn’t be too much trouble for the South Africans and me.  We don’t want to leave the older woman and if we walk to Crenshaw, we still don’t know where exactly the bus picks up or if the bus is still running.  Thanks to the older woman’s schedule, we do know the 212 is supposed to run until 12:55am.

Another parking attendant tells us that where the 212 is originating now isn’t actually too far of a walk.  Excited, we head off.  The 212 won’t take us directly to Hollywood but it will get us close and we figure that on a Friday night and almost in Hollywood we might be able to catch a less expensive cab.  With a general sense of where we’re heading, we joke about the not helpful parking people and the ones that managed to give us enough information to get here.  We pass by the bus stop we met and joke about all the good times we had there for the 10 minutes we sat there.

After about 15 minutes of walking we come up on a bus stop and there is a man sitting there.  GOOD SIGN!!!  We ask and he is waiting for the 212.  We have about 20 minutes until the final bus of the night begins its route.  In case you’ve forgotten, I’m supposed to be leaving for San Jose (at 4:30am this morning).  My bus is scheduled to start its journey back to Hollywood at 1am and I didn’t really sleep Thursday night.

Another man joins us at the bus stop.   He asks if we were at the concert.  He explains that he sells posters after the show but he fell asleep while the show was happening and woke up too late so missed out on his business.  He tries to entice us with $5 large glossy prints of Prince (prints of Prince!) from various decades.  We don’t bite but do discuss how Prince hasn’t AGED.  I believe smaller people don’t age as fast and I’m told Prince doesn’t drink or smoke and between the basketball and dancing, he’s probably always been in shape.  Still, he’s an enigma.  He just continually evokes the same feeling regardless of the decade.  How can a song titled “1999″ NOT BE DATED?  It’s Prince.  It’s even interesting to hear these South Africans talk about their experience of Prince.  Interesting because of the ignorance on my part and it had never occurred to me that white South Africans would be listening to Prince.  The girl said her mother played Prince in the house a bit and the guy said he really just knew of Prince because you just hear Prince songs along the way.  He did admit that he had kind of forgotten about Prince until they came to America and saw a billboard but when they did, they knew they had to see him.

At 12:55am, the 212 comes around the corner.  We have a quick celebration but cannot get on the bus fast enough.  The older woman, the South Africans and I feel that if nothing else, we’re getting most of the way home.  I don’t know if I’ve ever been more excited to be on a bus in my life.  The older woman looks at me, I can tell she’s exhausted, and says, “Well, Emily!  We made it!” and laughs.  She’s so lovely and full of light.  After that we fall into silence.  The usual crowd gets on.  A couple of homeless people, a group of way too loud teens, 5 men in drag putting me to SHAME with how much effort they put into looking beautiful tonight (sorry, Prince, it was a rough day but next time I will be there with sequins on!) and a crying woman with gauze scotch-taped to her forehead and back of her head.  A young man scoots up next to her and talks with her.  I feel better.  A joyfully smiling man in a wheelchair gets on.  We can’t really understand what he’s saying and he doesn’t have use of his arms either but he’s definitely talking to us and cracks up when we try and repeat back to him what we think he said.  A guy that, to me, looks scary and tough with tattoos and his head down comes from the back of the and secures the man in the wheelchair in place.  When it’s time for the man in the wheelchair to get off, the scary guy comes back up from the bus, wheels him to the door and tells him to have a good night and that he’ll see him tomorrow.  How kind.  And here I was, afraid.  Another chance for me to hold up a mirror and scold myself for being that person I try so hard not to be in life.  I hear you, self!  No judging.

I lean up against the window and though tired is an understatement, I realize tonight would not have been a normal night for me if I had just gotten on a bus after the show and went home, straight to bed.  Where are the lessons to be learned in that?  Where are the experiences?  The older woman sees her stop and tells us she’ll wait in the 24 hour McDonald’s for her connection instead of on the street.  She says goodnight and leaves us all.  Honestly, I’m a bit sad to see her go.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I think of myself as Dorothy from Oz a lot of the time and tonight the older woman is my Scarecrow.  Once she leaves, the South Africans and I continue on in relative silence and the bus driver surprises us by revealing his final stop is Hollywood & Highland.  Closer than I thought but still over a mile of walking to get home.

The South Africans and I part ways.  I take off speedwalking through the Friday night, Hollywood crowds.  I’m so exhausted this might as well be the last 6 miles of the LA Marathon.  I keep telling myself that I’m almost there, almost there, I just have to keep going.  I have only one scary encounter with a man across the street catcalling me so obnoxiously that I think he might actually come after me.  A car full of men yells out that I’m “so gorgeous” and a guy approaching me on a bike from behind says, “I hate that.  It doesn’t get them laid.  I don’t understand it.” Whoever you are, guy on bike, thank you for that.  Your delivery was so perfect I couldn’t stop laughing.  Also, it’s true.

I finally get home at about 3:15am.  I text my friend and tell him San Jose will be a no go for me this weekend.  I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, I’ll still be cranky in an hour, I have work to do this weekend and I don’t want to ruin his fun holiday weekend.

Tired? Absolutely. But as I lay in bed my cheap self does get a little joy at only having paid $3.00 for my transportation for the night.