MUSIC + ARTS EDITOR
LOST BOSTON VIRGINITY: “INFURIATINGLY”
“Where ya from?”
“Wor-chestah? Nothin’ good’s come out of there.”
“I’m from Winchester.”
He thrust my license back at me.
“Yeah? Well nothin’ good came outta there neither.”
This was the exchange I had with the jackass working the door of Harpers Ferry in the summer of 2008. A group of my friends and I went to see a crappy frat rock band. The band’s manager was a buddy and had asked if it was cool for two underage friends to come if they promised not to drink. Harpers complied, we paid the cover … and then we got kicked out.
One of my younger guy friends scored a drink off a bartender who apparently ignored the enormous Xes on his hand while she was batting her eyelashes. The lughead bouncer saw it, and the next thing I knew we were on the sidewalk out front with the livid band manager. Turns out that agreement he had with Harpers, if broken, meant that the band wouldn’t get paid that night. My buddy opened his wallet, handed the manager all his cash on the spot and walked away.
On a lighter note, the Brighton Music Hall? So much better. And the guy who couldn’t pronounce “Worcester” (or, apparently, read) is long gone, so there’s that!