The World's Worst Assistant

by Sona Movsesian

Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the Hollywood Bowl. In July, I got some friends tickets to see Röyksopp, Basement Jaxx, and Bossacucanova. From my distant perch at the merch shop, I could tell it was the loudest and most exciting concert I’d ever heard. I could see beams of colored lasers shooting out and smoke billowing beyond the very tall walls that were blocking my view of what was apparently the greatest concert of the season. I heard people squealing with pure joy, and everyone who went to the bathroom jogged out and back into the Bowl with the greatest look of happiness on their faces, like they had just witnessed an electronic music miracle that would only happen once in a lifetime. There’s nothing like sitting in a tiny store alone listening to 17,000 people having the time of their lives. To add insult to injury, one of our managers walked out, sweaty and out of breath with a giant smile beaming over his face, like he had just gone to the best rave of his life, and said, “It’s INSANE in there!” He then told me that for the first time in the years he had been working at the Hollywood Bowl, the residents in the houses nearby in the Hills were calling and complaining about the noise. To be so close yet so far to a concert like this was akin to torture for me. I couldn’t go through that again.