This may come as a shock to a lot of you, but when I was in high school I had no idea what I was doing when it came to girls. I was a really good looking kid and had lots of girls show interest in me, but I was far too socially awkward to know how to respond. One such girl was the girlfriend of this dude I hung out with sometimes named Judd (who we nicknamed Judd the Pudd). Judd's girlfriend was this cute, dark haired ninth grader named Breanna. I was in tenth grade at the time, so the age difference was hardly a big deal. Breanna was constantly staring at me and would come and try to talk to me on a daily basis. One day at lunch she told me she was so happy that she felt like having sex. Like the self-conscious virgin spazz I was I had no idea what to do with 90 yard pass that had just fallen into my hands, and let it slip through my fingers with a retarded, "oh, maybe you should go talk to Judd about that." Yeah, I was that stupid.
However, I could kinda tell this chick had a thing for me, but had no idea how to proceed. This led to me developing a half hearted crush on her, which basically involved me obsessing over her as an object to put an end to an interminable sixteen years of virginity. To this end I started hanging out with her and Judd's circle of friends more which led to me doing things I normally wouldn't have done. Like going to see Radiohead. I didn't have much interest in Radiohead since they were kind of seen as an alternative one hit wonder band after "Creep" came out but they started picking up critical/fan momentum with the release of "The Bends." I still thought they sucked, but was willing to tag along in hopes that it would get me one step closer to Breanna's beaver.
We had to wait in line for over an hour to get in, but the wait in line was more entertaining than the show. This shifty eyed, homeless looking dude came up to us and started chatting us up about what show we were seeing. I was the only one brave/naive/bored enough to engage him in conversation. After about a minute of chit chat, he cut to the chase and pulled out a curling iron inside a box that had been taped back shut. His sales pitch went, "you wanna buy this curling iron? Ten bucks. Give your pretty lady a nice present." I politely told him that I wasn't interested. But he wasn't finished. Dude then pulled out a fucking SUB SANDWICH from his coat pocket and asked the requisite question, "do you wanna buy this sandwich? Five dollars." I think I laughed right in his face. Later on I kinda regretted it though because throwing a five dollar sandwich from a homeless man's trenchcoat at some big time MTV stars like Radiohead would have been hellla punk rock. Did I mention I was stupid?
Anyway, after waiting through a couple lunar cycles we eventually made our way inside and did the usual awkward migration from place to place with no discernible objective that characterizes going to shows with your friends when you're too young to drink. I don't remember much between initially walking in the club and Radiohead taking the stage, but I remember that Judd and his buddies had eaten some shrooms beforehand and headed for "the pit" in order experience route alternative rock rebellion at its best. Me, I was too scared to take any drugs or drink at that point, so I spent the entirety of Radiohead's set standing next to Breanna and whispering idiotic blather in her ear that was the result of much brain wracking as to just what the coolest and most panty meltingest of comments would be. Frozen at the idea of making a move on a girl, I opted for my faithful standby: ill-informed snarkiness. I'd make sage comments like, "look at everyone gushing over them. They're just another band" with all the authority a year of reading MaximumRocknRoll had bestowed on me. As much as she wanted my bone, Breanna wasn't having it and replied that they were actually better than she thought they'd be. This sent me into a tailspin because my whole cynical rap had been a grave miscalculation! Thinking on my feet I quickly changed me tune with a, "oh, well, that song actually was pretty good" uttered with all the false enthusiasm I could muster. I spent the whole time staring at the top of Breanna's head and trying to work my way close to her so I could kinda touch her without obviously touching her. Smooth I was not. Anyway, all I remember about Radiohead themselves was that the guitar was ear piercingly loud when they played "Creep" - which got the biggest reaction of the night - and that Thom Yorke mentioned he was sick with food poisoning and couldn't come back for another encore.
After the show the band were doing an autograph session at Let It Be Records which was a five minute walk from First Avenue (the club they played at). I tagged along with everyone else because, well, they were my ride. I also figured this would be a good chance to show off in front of Breanna what a smooth operator I was and how meeting some celebrities wouldn't faze me. The only problem was, what could I say to the band that would prove that I wasn't just a dorky high school kid but that I was actually ON THEIR LEVEL? That was tough. I wracked my brains and couldn't come up with anything. Finally when I caught sight a very pale Thom Yorke standing at a folding table and looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world I came up with what I thought was a masterstroke. A comment that would not only show that I was on their level and understood where they were coming from, but also that I was above all of the rabble out there in the audience uncritically lapping up every melodramatic riff and whale mating call like pained moan Thom spat out. When I found myself standing in front of him, his barely open eyes gazing up at me in a barely conscious haze I triumphantly blurted out, "You should have kept playing. I bet that audience would have been really honored if you'd puked on them."
He just stared at me with his peaked eyes and sweating brow and replied, "what are you talking about?"
Indeed.
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