When I got accepted into my school’s journalism program, I knew zero people in it. It was a little intimidating, but I like to keep to myself anyway. Soon enough, Hiba, a sweet Arab girl, befriended me. We never really hung out off campus until she admitted that she’d never been to a concert. “WTF,” I thought. I had to bring her to one. So, that weekend, I invited her to see Fucked Up. This is a little article I wrote right after the show.
“What are concerts like? I’ve never been to one.” I was kind of floored when Hiba, a classmate of mine, asked me that. I didn’t know what to answer so I decided to let her see for herself by bringing her to her very first show: Fucked Up and Dillinger 4.
We met up around 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. She explained to me that she moved to Montreal from Jordan, and that there are no concerts there. I don’t know how true that is, but it made her all the more excited. In fact, she seemed a little too excited so I crushed her hopes a bit and told her not to expect huge crowds or pyrotechnics or shit like that; rather, she should expect a small venue and a lot of fat guys.
I took some alcohol out of my bag and offered her the share she was entitled to as my platonic date for the night. She sniffed it and was all, “This smells like shit. What is it?” I answered that it was a light drink (OK, in reality it was absurdly strong) made mainly with rum. She confessed she’d never tasted rum before. “Good Lord,” I thought, “I’m tainting this girl’s innocent spirit.” I decided I could live with that and insisted she drink it. Soon enough she was giggling and telling me how pirates like rum. My concoction appeared to be working. Success!
When we finally got to the show, she was smiling ear to ear. She smiled during every song. It was like seeing a kid in a candy store, and it reminded me of my first concert experience: Boyz II Men and Montell Jordan. I was nine years old and to this day, it remains one of my favorite shows ever. They even did magic tricks. Back to Hiba, though, she was having a blast. At one point she told me she wanted to do ‘that thing where people hold you above their heads.’ I stupidly made her feel my misshaped skull (an accident that happened after stage diving) and she backed out. I tried to convince her anyway but she still didn’t want. I was bummed.
She ended up leaving a little early to catch the last metro home, but later on she texted me about how much fun she’d had. At least I think she did; I was really wasted. It could have been anyone, really. The point is someone texted me about how much fun they had (I think), and that’s what matters. That’s what shows are all about.
P.S. Hi Hiba!