Why I Missed Second Shift: An Atlantis Lament
By Michelle Gilzenrat

I knew this show would sell out. In fact, I warned my friend Olivia that she needed to get there as early as she could just to get in. When the clock rolled past 11:00 p.m. and she hadn’t called—I was worried.

Pulling my handy-dandy cell phone out of my purse, I discovered that I hadn’t heard from her because I have zero reception inside the building. Harrumph. Handy-dandy, indeed. So, I did what any good cell phone user would do. I proceeded outside. Walking through the curtain and into the entryway, I noticed a bar of promise appear on my LCD display. I dialed and put the phone to my ear as I continued to the quieter environment outside.

“Hey! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you!” Olivia finally has me on the line, and I provide some much needed clarification: “No, this is at HARD ROCK , not Vinyl.” Having set things straight, I spin a 180 to go back in to see one of my favorite local bands.

“You can’t go in.” Injected star-turned-doorman appears before me.

“Uh, excuse me? I WAS in. I just stepped out for literally 30 seconds!”

“Sorry, you have to get in line. That’s the policy.” I look over my shoulder at the forever-winding row of people. My jaw drops. It would have been nice to know that BEFORE I left. “I was going to tell you, but you were on the phone.” …I wouldn’t have gone outside if I WASN’T on my phone. So this guy SEES me walk outside, he KNOWS I was out for less than a minute, and he STILL refuses to let me go back in. You know, I really wouldn’t have minded having my conversation interrupted for the sake of finding out if I took one more step I would have to wait outside for an hour.

At the very least, an informative sign would have been an effective deterrent.

Begrudgingly, I walked around the block to the end of the line. I made some vain attempts to call important friends inside the venue—but, oh yeah, no reception. Not to mention the volume of sound inside drowning out any would be rings. As the clock ticked the anger simmered. Oh look, the 99X marketing manager has to wait, too. Oh, never mind. There he goes right inside. Oh, and five of his buddies. Hmm. Maybe I just need to say the right thing.

Besides the V.I.P.’s entering, the line was unwavering—but so was my will. I marched back to the front. “Does this laminate not mean anything?

“No.”

“Ahem. I work for (name drop) and (more name dropping). I helped put this together and I am part of the reason half these people are here tonight! I got here at 8 p.m. to AVOID this very line.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” another Velvet Underground employee joins the former, “but it’s a fire hazard. We’ve reached capacity.” Well, that’s interesting. I am INSIDE the building. I go outside for 30 seconds, and all of a sudden I turn into a fire hazard if I go back in. “I will try to get you in as soon as possible…but I will just tell you the same two words I tell everyone else who complains: Great White .”

Right. Well, I just saw Mr. Radio and five of his buddies go in. Apparently, if you are important enough, you don’t block fire exits. After a huff and a puff of resignation, I returned to my spot, joining newly arrived Olivia. She was still in good spirits as she came to see To Whom it Concerns (going on at 1:00am). At least I had company, but I still didn’t have the concert I was there for.

But honestly, it’s not even about seeing or not seeing the band. I have been to five Second Shift concerts, and I am sure I will be to a hundred more. I hate to gripe, and I promise I don’t do it often, but I can’t standby and watch policies vacant of common sense. Surely patrons like myself deserve some priority over those who arrived nearly 3 hours later. Naturally, I didn’t make it back inside until after Second Shift wrapped up and a good portion of their fans headed home.

My call-free friends tell me it was an amazing performance. Just a bit of advice, then, to Velvet Underground future attendees: If the show is packed, I don’t care how lost your friends are, DO NOT GOT OUTSIDE.