It was 7:10am when the three of us heard the synthesized blues riff that emits from my phone every morning, just after my alarm clock, to wake me up for work. It seems that I had forgotten to turn it off when I went to Toronto for a few days. My eyes popped open instantly at the familiar sound and the first thing I could think of was, “Oh shit, the boys are gonna kill me for that!”
I was face first into a pillow in bed, or more accurately on bed, next to Other Kevin when I jumped up to run over and turn off the alarm when my pants fell down around my knees and I almost went flying into the wall. It seems that a few beers on an empty stomach, the time difference and the fact that I had been up for almost 24 hours by the time I hit the rack in the first place, all combined to make me pass out while I was in the process of going to bed. My shoes were on the floor, my belt and jeans were unbuttoned and the rest of my clothes were exactly as they were before I went out the night before. It struck me that this was starting to turn into a 4-guys kind of trip... and this time I didn’t even have a place to stay.
The day was Thursday... concert day... the reason we were all here in the first place. Everyone had things to do that morning, Bruce had to work, Other Kevin had to visit his sister and we weren’t expecting to hear from the guys in Scarborough until at least lunchtime, so the three of us went for coffee and then went our separate ways for a few hours.
This was kind of like my alone time in downtown TO. I went for more coffee, had lunch at Dundas Square watching a U2 concert outdoors on a huge screen, finally got keys, met the Scarbarians for another lunch at a Subway (the sandwich shop, not the ride) and eventually got my luggage from Other Kevin and Bruce’s hotel and hit the condo for a shower. Usually when I travel, a shower at the hotel is one of the first things I do once I check-in... I am pretty sure I saw travel and hangover grime slide off of me under the pressure of the water.
Eventually, we all met at O’Malley’s... which incidentally was the scene of the U2 cover band from the night before... for dinner and pre-show pints. It seems that Other Kevin, Bruce and I left an impression everywhere we went those few days, the entire staff remembered us from the night before and the manager gave us his card to skip the line when we came back after the concert. (To all of you reading this, who work in the healthcare system, this shows how it pays to be polite and smile!)
The concert itself was indescribable. The roar of the crowd drowned out the roar of Achmed. The energy of being down on the field in the middle of all the action was like something everyone needs to experience for themselves. The feeling of having 60,000 people looking down on you as you stand near the pitching mound was nothing compared to when everyone there started to sing “Where the Streets Have No Name” all in unison and to the point of actually drowning out the band. That guitar intro has to be one of the most recognizable riffs in rock and roll history...thinking about it here is giving me goose bumps again. We all decided that we are going back to see them again... my choice is in Dublin!
I have never found the streets of Toronto particularly friendly, but that night, after the show, 60,000 people spilled out onto Blue Jay Way and were all in happy and jovial spirits. The beer consumed and organic aroma of the Skydome may have played a part in the odd Torontonian behaviour.
Never ones to walk away from a conversation with a group of pretty girls; Other Kevin, Bruce and I found ourselves trying to convince a group of young professionals to come along to the bar with us. Apparently they all had to go home because they had to work in the morning. At this point, frat-boy Kevin crept into the conversation, “Don’t be a bunch of whimps! So you will be regretting it tomorrow, but if you don’t come you will be regretting in a few days anyway and you will keep regretting it for weeks... next thing you know you will get diagnosed with a brain tumor and will have missed out on your last chance to party with us.”
After they finished snarling at me, I told them, “you have to live life... I have a brain tumor, his name is Achmed and I am out having fun tonight.” They didn’t believe me until the other guys started nodding that I was telling the truth. They all went home anyway... I may have scared them.
The rest of the night basically turned into a carbon copy of the night before, except I had a full stomach and did not pass out in bed with another dude.
The next morning my phone rang, it was Other Kevin looking for someone to go for lunch with. Well, I am all over eating, especially on a sunny patio full of girls that seem to have to pass a beauty test before they get hired. Other Kevin, Bruce and I met at Jack Astor’s on Dundas Square and spent our last few hours in TO chilling to great tunes, great scenery and cold beer. Outside of the concert, it was the highlight of the trip. The lads had an earlier flight than I did, so eventually they went to the airport, and I went and packed.
It was a whirlwind tour, about 50 hours between airport gates. It’s one of those moments in life that seems surreal and is both cloudy and clear at the same time. It wasn’t the trip I was expecting, but I wouldn’t trade a minute of it for something else. Sometimes you just have to roll with what is in front of you and things will work out top drawer!
As the 4-guys would say, “Let it roll!”
From Achmed and Me... Live Life!
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