Let me break it down for you.
As a sad urchin with no official badges, it’s essential to arrive early to South by Southwest events. I waited about 90 minutes to get into a Saturday night show at Empire Control Room.
While we waited, a squinty woman with doofy glasses and a pork-pie hat continually admonished us to “TIGHTEN UP.” Her tone of voice conveyed deeper and deeper dismay as time wore on. “GUYS, I really need you to TIGHTEN. UP.” We brainstormed ways to get tighter, huddling together like weary new arrivals to Ellis Island.
Once inside, we headed for the main stage. Empire Control Room’s stage is inside a mechanic’s garage. The garage doors vibrate with the band, simulating the experience of being trapped inside blown-out speakers. Right after we shuffled into the garage, burly guards roped it off, separating us from the food trucks and port-o-potties. We could go back out if we wanted to, but would never make it back to the stage, through the throngs of SXSW attendees.
One fearless spring chicken made a mad dash under the ropes. A bouncer swiftly picked her up by her ankles, spun her around in a circle, and let go. After that, order prevailed.
Eventually, I cracked. I had to pee.
Moments later, I emerged from the Port-O-Potty screaming, “THERE’S NO TOILET PAPER IN HERE!” hoping to incite a riot. But I found myself looking into the blank, hungry eyes of an unfeeling crowd with bigger problems. I tried another Port-O-Potty, but no luck.
I waited in line at a food truck to get paper towels. Full of shame, I trotted back across the yard to the port-o-potties. But the damage was done.
At this point, DJ Moist Panties decided she had had enough.
Other than that, super fun!