That Time I Got Kicked Out of a Show . . .
Back in July, Kristen posted a “You get a point for each thing you’ve done at a concert” graphic, which made for some amazing storytelling in the Mable facebook group. Here’s the first of what I hope to be a series, collecting some of our best stories from the most interesting categories, and obviously starting with “the time I got kicked out...”!
Rachael: I was at a Christian punk show in the 90's with a few of my friends, one of them being a hard core punker with huge liberty spikes, chains, the whole bit. Everyone else in the venue (aka: church amphitheater) was as you guessed it, very plain-clothed and looked as though they had possibly never heard punk rock before. I had been going to Christian punk and secular shows since
I was 13 so this was not my first rodeo at a church show. Don't be fooled, they can get down, too!
I was standing on the edge of the mild pit having a good time, pushing people/being pushed when this guy went out of his way to go by me and grab my boob as he went by in the pit. I raged and told my friends so they started pushing him in the pit making it obvious to single him out. I stayed on the edge and pushed him and yelled at him every time he went by while he tried to ignore me. I then saw my friends get asked to leave at the same time a middle-aged "concert chaperone" gets on stage and grabs the mic from the lead singer and yells, "Alright, the guy with the mohawk just got kicked out and points down to me from the stage YOU'RE NEXT!" All I could do was laugh when I was asked to leave even after I explained what had happened. Needless to say, that church didn't have shows after that and it hasn't stopped me from standing wherever I want in the crowd.
That time I got kicked out of a show? It was totally worth it! It was Punk Rock Bowling and Rancid was playing And Out Come The Wolves in its entirety. It had been a looooong day of drinking in the hot Las Vegas sun and my best gal Shawna and I were feeling pretty good. We were living our best lives, singing along to our favorite album with the other sweaty punks.
About halfway through the set Shawna told me she needed to pee, and I needed to come with her. I'm a good friend, so I only protested a little before I went to find a bathroom with her. They were still rocking the port-o-potties at this point and there was one directly by the stage, but it was backstage. Shawna decided she needed to use that particular toilet and used every trick in the book to persuade the security guy to let her use it. After much deliberation, he allowed us to go back and use it quickly then come back out. We thanked him and ran backstage. As we approached the toilets my best gal, the Bonnie to my Clyde, the Thelma to my Louise, turned back to me and proudly stated, "I don't even have to pee!" We quickly changed direction and scurried backstage.
We grabbed a drink and tried to blend in while we listened to the rest of the set. When the show was over Rancid came backstage and I nearly died with excitement. It had always been a dream of mine to one day meet Tim Armstrong, and it was about to happen!! We walked over to Tim, calmly and coolly of course, and chatted with him for a bit then pestered him into getting a picture with us. I was beaming, and my fangirl was getting out of control, alerting security to the fact that we most certainly did not belong. We were discovered. The security noticed we didn't have wristbands...the jig was up. They not so kindly asked us to leave and shoved us out of the back gate into the alley while scolding us. So, we got kicked out...but we also met Tim Armstrong. I think it was a win!
Soooo.... back in 2001, I was living the punk rock squatter dream on the streets of Hollywood. I still somehow maintained a part time job at a porno store at Hollywood/Vine. I was still pretty new to the job and had never closed the shop on my lonesome. Without any warning, I was informed I would be locking up that night on my own. I felt pretty agitated as I had plans that evening and didn’t appreciate having to cancel, just to sling buttplugs. I drank several beers before my shift. A few hours into the evening, a former coworker of mine shows up. She was a rad punk chick. It turns out she was going to the Deicide/Morbid Angel show at the club around the corner and they refused to admit her with her studded belt. She asked if I could babysit her belt. It was then that my drunk ass decided I would just lock up the store (with all our studded and spiked gear inside) and attend the concert with her.
In those days, I was just a few months shy of my 21st birthday, so I mostly “fished” to have older people buy my alcohol. We arrive at the venue. I pay to get in and promptly begin fishing for other folks to buy me beers from the bar.
I finally find a nice metal dude who agrees. He passes the cup to me and suddenly the beam of a flashlight is in my eyes! Security spotted the hand-off and since my underage ass did not have the “21 +” wristband, I was in trouble!!
Security begins chasing me around the pit; I’m ducking and running in circles, trying desperately to chug the beer before I am physically caught. When they finally catch me, they just grab me and literally THROW me out. Like picked my drunk ass off the ground and tossed me like a cartoon character, yelling at me to scram as I crumpled into the pavement.
Indignant, I decided I would just go back to work and finish up my shift.
Well, I had a great deal of difficulty unlocking the door and disarming the alarm. The alarm begins to blare and the police are notified. When the cops show up, I’m drunk off my ass, insisting I was an employee and not some degenerate street urchin.
My manager shows up and relieves me of my duties. I NEVER went back, not even to collect my final paycheck.
The story of me getting thrown out of a show is neither funny nor does it paint me in a good light, but I will say that it happened at a point in my life where I was pretty low. And drinking a lot.
We were in Amsterdam for a Cock Sparrer gig and as a family we had wristbands that allowed us access to all corners of the venue.
I was with an ex partner (soon to be ex partner at that time), bored and unhappy. And so distracted myself with drinking all the Jack Daniels that I could get my hands on. And considering I had access to the dressing room, it was not an inconsiderable amount.
The gig had an early curfew, due to the club night happening after. Pretty common for many European venues on weekends to double dip like this. So after Sparrer played and we all had a fantastic time, it was actually still quite early in the evening.
It was then that we learned that the club show actually had a set by Dizzee Rascal planned. And here’s where the cultural split is important, because I’m not sure if many people reading this will know who Dizzee is. But as a local East London boy, we LOVED Dizzee. And having wristbands, a group of us decided we’d go back inside for the club night.
Apparently it was a great set. But in my hunt for more free booze once I was back inside, I had somehow ended up side of stage. Just before Dizzee went on. And tried to go on stage with him.
Needless to say, I was very quickly asked to leave. I’m not sure my feet actually touched the floor as I was shown the exit and my wristband removed.
So there you go. That’s it in a nutshell. How a drunk, obnoxious, entitled punk tried to get on stage with a grime legend and was nicely asked to leave.
Have you ever been kicked out of a show? Please comment below.