My Other Paul Shows
Tuesday, September 27, 2005. The continuation of my elation from the night before; this was supposed to be a great concert. The other major reason that I hadn’t seen Paul in fifteen years was because I’d become extremely afraid of large crowds. In my senior year of college at the University of Kentucky, I went to a general admission concert in Cincinnati, Ohio. I camped out and was in the front row for the entire show. At the end of the show, the massive audience rushed the stage, and I was trampled. My left leg was crushed, and I had a massive asthma attack. I almost died.
So, the very fact that I had made it through the concert the night before without major trauma or even having a panic attack was cause for celebration. I was utterly excited and proud of myself for overcoming what had become an enormous fear. I even stopped attending Kentucky Basketball games after that incident in college. That was quite a big deal because prior to the Cincinnati incident, I had a front row seat at every home game, and several away games.
These Boston concerts meant more to me than seeing Paul McCartney. They were a personal triumph. This particular show was difficult. And, it marked the first time that I left a Macca show early.
The night actually started off quite uneventful. I left work at 1:00 and went to lunch with a friend; walked around the Common and then headed to the Garden at about 2:30.
I was actually hoping to get a glimpse of Paul coming into the arena. I waited on one side of the arena till about 4, but then I realized that I was supposed to meet some people across the street. So, I went over to the Harp for just a few minutes. I never did run into anyone I was supposed to meet up with. I don’t know if I missed them, or vice versa, but I didn’t see them at all. So, I went back over to the Garden.
Five o’clock came and I thought that maybe I was standing on the wrong side of the arena. I’d seen a tour bus drive around the other side when I arrived earlier in the day, so I figured Paul must go in over there. I met up with a nice group of people and stood there for about an hour or so.
Then, a caterer came out and said that Paul was already inside. I didn’t want to believe her, but she said “I swear to God.” So, I took her at her word, we all did. I parted ways with the group and went and got in line to go into my seat.
I actually had a camera, but I blew what was left of the film so that security wouldn’t take the camera away from me. We waited forever to get thru security. After they finally let us in, I breezed thru security and up only 1 escalator this time. I had a closer seat: LOGE 5 Row 21 Seat 4
I bought a lanyard and some food to eat and then tried to find my seat. I had a little trouble because the LOGE seats are numbered weird, but it was all good. I sat next to this nice couple (on my left) and we chatted for a bit. Then, three people came and sat on my right. I thought they were mannequins because they did not move through the whole show. Every now and then, I’d hear one of them singing but they didn’t move at all.
Reminded me of myself the first time I ever was in Paul’s presence. All I could do was stare at him. In fact, the first concert I ever went to was The Oak Ridge Boys. I was nine or something like that and I just sat in my seat like stone. Mom laughed at me practically the whole time. So I can’t really fault the people on my right. If they’d never seen Macca before then they have a right to be stone.
He was incredible, wonderful, superb, fantastic, fab…”and all the other pimply hyperboles.” I almost made it to the end of the show; almost.
I’m an asthmatic. It’s pretty severe; so when it’s bad, it’s really bad. Boston has a law that prohibits smoking in all public places. And, that law applied to everyone except two people. There were these two brothers in the row in front of me, and I know that they were brothers because they kept hitting on these women in the row behind me and saying “yeah, my brother, he’s such a ladies’ man.” It wasn’t bad enough that I had to put up with them getting up and going back and forth for beer, and blocking the view. Their drunken laughs and loud talking threatened to ruin the show for everyone around them. But, one of them decided it would be ok to smoke. He wouldn’t stop when he was asked; and several people in our section pleaded with him to stop.
It was so bad that I couldn’t breathe. I had to leave my seat. That was first time I’ve ever left anything having to do with Paul early, and I made my way to the bathroom to use my inhaler. I looked at myself in the mirror and I was terrified. I had no color; my lips were turning blue and I couldn’t get any air. A woman went and got security for me and another woman stood with me until they showed up; which I thought was nice of her to give up her precious few Macca moments for me.
Security came and asked me what happened. They weren’t getting my sign language so I pulled out the notebook I had in my purse and wrote down in caps: “SEC 5, ROW 20, SEAT 10 SMOKER”. Security took me to the customer service office so I could sit in the air conditioning and then the medics came. I still really couldn’t talk. They gave me oxygen and had me use my inhaler again, but it brought no relief. So, then they put a mask on my face and that helped to breathe in the Albuterol that way.
Then, they wheeled me down to First Aid in a wheelchair. I could sill hear Paul singing, but I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t stop crying. My blood pressure was extremely high and my pulse was racing. My heart felt like it was about to explode and I had a pain in the center of my chest.
The medics had to talk me into to going to the hospital. I hate the hospital. My oxygen levels were very low and that scared the hell out of me. But, once the pain in my chest got worse, I agreed to go to the ER.
I had no color, my chest hurt so much, and to top it all off my heart was broken. I know that I got to see Paul Monday night, but it’s beside the point. I wanted to make it through both shows. It was important to me on so many different levels.
They put me up on the stretcher and wheeled me out to an elevator. Right as the elevator doors closed, I heard Paul sing “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
The door that they wheeled me out of to get to the ambulance was the same door that I stood out in front of for an hour waiting to see if I could catch a glimpse of Paul’s limo coming in, the one the caterer popped out of. Isn’t it ironic? My experience in the emergency room was horrible, and instead of treating me for asthma, they tried to treat me for a heart attack. They honestly thought I was so hysterical over Paul McCartney that I gave myself a heart attack. Really???? I took a cab home and the driver got lost. It was a pretty miserable experience.
All in all, I don’t regret at all the time I actually did get to see Paul. He was awesome. But, thank goodness I believe in karma.