the club
January 28, 2010I’ve worked at the 9:30 Club for over four years now, five if you count the time I was an INTERN. When Clark and I first started dating, he’d drive by on his way home from work or if he was out running errands, and I’d pop out of my cave-like box office hole, grab a quick kiss and a hug and he’d be on his way. Later when he got a bicycle, he’d ride over just to see me for a minute, even though we just parted ways two hours before. My five-hour shifts were too long for us to be apart. “I miss you so much already,” he’d text. We’d acknowledge that this behavior was sort of insanely obsessive, but ran with it.
I love the people there. After Clark died, many came to the memorial service. They ordered food trays for me, got me a card, gave me hugs and dealt with (and continue to deal with) me having freak crying incidents while on the clock. Sometimes being in the little box office makes me claustophobic and weird, and I can’t help but start to breathe more heavily and feel anxious about the fact that I won’t ever see him ride up to the corner of 9th and V again. When I would go to work when Clark was really sick, just to fake some sense of normalcy, I’d spend the entire time worrying about him and what he was doing and how he was feeling and if he was able to get to the bathroom OK. I think going there and realizing, hey, I don’t have to push to get out of here 15 minutes early, and I can totally stay for my shift drink because no one is reliant upon me, is something I’m not used to yet. I’m still sort of agitated, tapping my foot real fast, but nothing is pressing.
I totally met Johnny Marr last week, though, and Editors are coming soon. Good things.
