This story may or may not have happened. Even though the statute of limitations has expired, I'm still denying that anything like this could have happened at a Pink Floyd concert in 1988.
I was at the Pink Floyd concert in Seattle. I bought a ticket at the last minute in row Q, which was pretty good considering there was over 40,000 people. I never made it to my seat. I knew the venue very well so I snuck up a side door and managed to crash the backstage party up in the announcer booth. All of the big insiders were there. I wouldn't know them from shit and I didn't care. I was very happy that I just stumbled into the backstage party and once I figured out it was a free bar, I was slinging drinks back so fast I couldn't believe it.
Amazingly enough, another friend I went to high school with managed to sneak in as well. We claimed we were not big shots in an effusive manner that made people think we must be in the know. How else did two dorks managed to swing being back stage? One person caught on who was the programing director at KISW. He figured it out, but he also figured out I was harmless, kind of funny and he let me stay. Somehow I got invited to David Gilmore's private party back at the Four Seasons hotel.
So on my way out, I went down this stairway I used to sneak up. It is the same stairway all of the television networks use for running coaxial cable for broadcast on local and national TV. I was really drunk, really ornry and I realized I needed a 30' coaxial cable for my TV at home. So I started unscrewing lines and screwing them into other lines. I did my best to fuck everything up. I dropped lines, I tugged on the lines to fuck up the connecting wires, I bent the center pin and rescrewed them in and I was a complete asshole. This was a Friday or Saturday night and there was going to be a Seahawks game on Sunday, so the damage I was doing was going to really fuck up someone's day.
I was having so much fun that I stayed too long.
The door in the stairway opened and a group of guys started coming down the stairs. Just my luck, they were the TV techs! They noticed someone had fucked up all of the lines and they could see the exit door, so there was no way I could run for the door without being caught. So I went down to the sub-basement, only 5-8 feet below the exit, leaned up against the wall and hoped they wouldn't notice me. Especially since I had 30' of coaxial cable and connectors wrapped around my waist.
Sure enough, they came all the way down, saw me and I pretended to be passed out against the wall. They shook me awake and I pretended to grogilly come to. I figured this was my only chance to avoid going to jail. I staggered awake and asked, "w-w-wheerrree aaammm IIIII maaannn...?"
"DID YOU DO THIS?" they demanded?
I just kept up the act, "dddiiid wwwwwhhhaaaat maaaann?"
They just got angry.
"Aww, this guy is fucking wasted! Let's see if we can find they guys that did this! You get the fuck out of here!"
So I staggered to the exit, staggered through and just when I was out of sight, I did my best Wally West imitation and I left skid marks on the pavement I ran so fast. The Road Runner would have looked at me and said, "look at that son-of-a-bitch go!" It's a good thing I did because right after I was clear of the exit, one of the guys said, "how do we know that guy wasn't bullshitting?"
I started running in a serpentine pattern to my car, I hopped in, dropped the cable gear, then like the bright lad I was, made my way to the David Gilmour party. As if they TV crew wasn't going to be there.
I get to the party, but I missed it. It was going on in his room, but then the room moved to another room or something. The wreckage was there, but the guests were petering out by the time I showed up. Seeing that I had nothing else to do, I swiped a dirty bathrobe from the room, went home and called it a night.
