Boy Scout buddy system still valid

Last week a Bruin saved my life.I went to go see The National,
one of my favorite bands, at the Troubadour over spring break.
Unfortunately, I only had one ticket, so I made all the
arrangements for a lonely trip back into Los Angeles.

Dad put gas in the car, and I had just enough cash in my pocket
to cover parking ($7), a CD ($12) and a healthy breakfast at
Starbucks the next day ($3.75). All in all, not quite enough to
cover a locksmith when I locked myself out of my car in West
Hollywood.

According to the sign outside the venue, the Troubadour offers
free parking, so I was pretty surprised to see a parking attendant
asking me for cash.

Apparently I was surprised enough to leave my keys in the
ignition when I closed my door, but even though my spare key was
over an hour away in Ventura, all was not lost: The increasingly
sketchy attendant offered to “open it up” for me after
the show.

As you can imagine, I was pretty jittery when I walked in the
door. I had on my lucky burgundy American Apparel track jacket
($50), but seeing three other dudes wearing the exact same thing
pretty much ruined that one for me.

It could’ve been worse. I could’ve been stuck at The
Echo with the local drunks or with the frisky bodyguards down at
The Wiltern, but it was still an extreme situation.

I didn’t know what to do. Should I call my mom? Should I
call a locksmith, all “Robin Hood: Men In Tights”-style
and see if they’d take a check?

Miraculously, I ran into my friend Christina among the hipster
hordes, and she gave me a ride back home ““ and a much-needed
reminder of my tenure in the Boy Scouts.

I’d forgotten all about the buddy system, the
all-important safety feature of childhood that made sure you were
never alone in a pool or on a hike ““ you know, in case one of
you was attacked by a bear and the other had to run and get help.
Happens all the time.

It wasn’t the first time a friend had bailed me out at a
show. Last year I was similarly stranded outside of Staples Center
and was rescued by a kind-hearted Bruin. I went to my first concert
ever ““ an epic Ray Charles-Willie Nelson double-bill ““
thanks to a friend’s extra ticket. It would be impossible to
count the number of rides bummed, set lists snagged and late-night
meals eaten with show-going pals.

iPod culture makes it easy to forget that music is communal.
It’s one thing to sit in front of a computer, headphones on,
desperately trying to ignore your roommate and his girlfriend, but
going out is another story. Whether or not your friends like the
band, it’s always more fun to see a show with them.

Of course, it’s always easier to convince someone
who’s already a fan to go with you, but live music is always
a surprising experience. I was dragged to see Sleater-Kinney at
ArthurFest over the summer (I was there for The Olivia Tremor
Control), and that performance completely changed my opinion of the
band.

Taking your pals to check out a concert is like former music
columnist Mark Humphrey making an extravagant simile: You may not
all agree about it, but it’s an experience you’ll never
forget.

It’s probably more fun to play a show with your friends,
too: The opening act for The National was a guy with a Vanilla Ice
haircut and a fancy karaoke machine (“I write and produce my
own music,” he said, not once, but twice, just in case we
didn’t believe him the first time) who spent his hour on
stage looking awkward and doing spirit fingers. The third member of
the next group, Talkdemonic, was a laptop.

The members of The National, on the other hand, keep things in
the family. With two pairs of siblings, they’re practically a
band of brothers. While there’s probably no correlation
between quantity and quality, the five-member ensemble was easily
the best of the night.

When I came back to the parking lot the next morning, spare key
in hand (thanks Mom), the car was there: no burglary, no tow-away,
not even a ticket. And I still had exactly enough cash in my pocket
for one grande mocha frap.

If you’ve ever locked yourself out of your car outside
Express Mart, e-mail Greenwald at
[email protected].