The first time I saw Counting Crows in concert, I was convinced I was meant to meet them in person. By them, I mean Adam Duritz, the lead singer. By in person, I mean form an unbreakable lifelong connection.
Sadly, the friend I had gotten to come along with me to that particular concert had to work early the next morning as a nurse for premature babies and was not interested in staying after the concert to use destiny as a way to get back stage or on a tour bus. And also sadly, she was my ride home.
Fast forward almost 10 years and the Counting Crows started offering a VIP “meet and greet” package to their concert tickets. I felt like they should have called it the “Julie McGinley, this is your chance!” package. Two years ago, they were sold out before I could buy them. But this time, they were not! So, way back in April, I bought two tickets for a September concert (one for me and one for Trevor) that included the “Meet & Greet” package.
Really, there was very little meet and almost only greet. Because we had to wait in a line of about 40 people and you barely got to shake hands with each of them and then smile for the camera before some guy was yelling, “Next!”
And I was nervous. I wanted to say something clever, witty, memorable. Something that would prove we have this connection, you know? But waiting in that line, I knew there was no way we had a connection. I was just one of those fake fans who paid money to say I met them. They didn’t care about meeting me. They didn’t want to stand there for the photo. Someone else had the idea and they were now obligated to it.
The photo got a bit awkward. I thought that if I put my arm around Adam Duritz he would at least put his arm back around me. You know, the way you do in photos with people. But I guess he didn’t think my husband would appreciate that much. As it turns out, Trevor put HIS arm around me but I leaned into Adam Duritz hardcore as he kept standing straight up with hands in his pockets as though I was not even there.
As the photo was over, and we were leaving, I panicked knowing I had to say SOMETHING.
So I finally blurted, “I used to write you messages on MySpace!”
Adam looked shocked. “You did?” He said.
“Yep. Did you read them?”
“I have no idea!”
Later, I thought of tons of interesting questions to ask, things to say, jokes to tell. But it was too late. My one chance was over. All I have now is the awkward photo.