Last night, I experienced the surreal, thanks to Hanson. Yes, THAT Hanson. The former long-haired 90′s kiddie group that’s all grown up now. My night started at an event where free Guinness was being given to people. Many hours and dark beverages later, I decided to get some carry-out chicken to keep my alcohol company. While deciding which late night chicken spot near Howard University to visit, I saw a line of people camped outside the 9:30 Club.
Me, being me, I asked two ladies with sleeping bags who they were waiting to see. They answered “Hanson.” What’s funny is that after telling me who they were waiting for, they already had an explanation prepared, as if they were used to people making fun of them for being Hanson fans. Little did they know, I’m actually cool with a lady who is one of the most devoted fans of that band on Earth. She told me there were more people like her in existence, but I did not believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes!
Once I dropped her name, the women in line were like “YEAH! We know her! She was at the Baltimore show, and she’s supposed to be at this one.” I had a feeling they would know my friend, because I’d imagine being a Hanson fan dedicated enough to travel to see them and camp out in the cold would make you a part of a pretty close-knit community. Kind of like Trekkies who travel to conventions, except without toy phasers and Mr. Spock ears.
Over the course of me explaining that I wasn’t going to make jokes since I actually respect Hanson for creating independent music and maintaining a following, one of the women expresses her desire to pee. With no bathroom in sight, I decided to give her a resourceful solution to her problem. I said “Go across the street to Howard University Hospital’s emergency room and use the bathroom there. It’s not like they can turn people away. If security gives you a hard time, just say ‘I’m suffering from foot and ass disease. It could get messy! GET OUT OF MY WAY, MAN!’”
After showing these women how to get to the urinary promised land, I bought my chicken, went home, and texted my Hanson-loving friend about the encounter. I hope they all have fun at the concert. I won’t be caught dead in that motherf*cker, but I do hope that the show goes well.
I-own’t care what nobody say: “Mmmm Bop” was like that, Joe!