My Concert Misadventure: Part 1
My story of seeing Nicki Minaj in Boston was a crazy one, so of course I wanted to write about it. But I wasn’t alone, and who I was with eventually became a problem. I am currently praying for this person. She is my close friend — a woman with gastroparesis, anxiety, POTS and several other ailments. She is not on this site, but to protect her privacy I will be calling her Jessica.
So, Jess invited me to Nicki Minaj. The front row ticket was over $1,000, but she only expected me to pray a fifth of the price because I didn’t know that I was coming before she bought the tickets. She was originally going with a different girl who bailed. So, of course I said yes! I love her music and have only been to a Pat Benatar concert with my parents over 10 years ago. It would be my first concert as an adult, and I was so excited I got up at 4 in the morning. I was showered and dressed in my fishnets and Barbie pink dress, ready for the time of my life.
I was excited until I got a voice message that made me hesitate.
“I am having THE WORST MELTDOWN!” Jessica screamed. “I am CRYING HYSTERICALLY! My mom is here but she is NOT HELPING and I am so happy to finally be away from here and MOM STOP!”
I sent her a voice message back.
“Open this when you’ve calmed down,” I told her slowly. “So if you aren’t calm, exit out and listen to this later. You need to apologize to your mom and relax. We’re going to have a fun time. But please don’t send me audios like that — I don’t want to hear that, Jessica.”
I was shaking as I called up my number #1 friend. We met in college his freshman year and he is now working as tech support in Hungary.
“She probably wanted sympathy and to feel heard,” he explains.
I wince — I definitely did not give her the empathetic response she was looking for.
Jessica’s text message back confirmed that, and we struck an agreement that she would have to send me a trigger warning for future audios like that. My second condition was that me listening to it would have to be of significant help. Looking back, I shouldn’t have compromised on my boundary, and after the events in Boston, I would re-think whether I would want to see her again altogether as they changed my view of her significantly.
She pulled into my driveway as I carried out my purse and a trash barrel with my heavy pink backpack on.
“You look so hot!” yelled Jessica.
“Thanks. Do we need this?” I held up the bin. Jess got bus sick.
“It would just be extra stuff,” said her mother.
“Give me one minute.” I brought the bin inside and then we were off.
“I’m so nervous,” said Jessica.
I handed her a piece of my thinking putty. “Play with this,” I instructed. “It’ll help with your anxiety. It changes color.”
“You have such a calming energy,” Jess told me. “You should’ve helped me pack.”
I didn’t mention that my offer to pack was met with a recording of her shrieking at her mom, keeping my lips sealed and my tongue in check.
We made the bus by only 5 minutes. I told her I made a playlist, but she said she didn’t want to hear it. So, we listened to Nicki Minaj’s mixtape from the Cape to Boston, eventually getting out at South Station. We headed over to our hotel where Jess showered and I did my makeup. There was only one bed — an issue that would arise later.
Jessica continuously said she was having a meltdown while packing her bag for the concert. I continuously told her, “You’re okay,” and helped her locate things. I thanked her mom while she was on the phone, and at one point when she couldn’t find her earbuds she told her mother, “You packed for me so if I don’t find them, this is your fault.”
Jessica had told me she would never apologize to her mom after I told her to in her audio. So, once again, I held my tongue, even when my instincts told me to jump to this woman’s defense.
We were sent back to the hotel for a bag that was too big. I anticipated this hassle and didn’t bring a purse, having just shoved my epipen and wallet in the pockets of my leather jacket.
“We need to identify your essentials,” I told her.
“I need everything in that bag.”
Everything fit, luckily, and the venue was just around the corner so we’d be there soon.
“I’m so dizzy,” she said after the elevator.
I went up to the girl being photographed in front of the nearest chair. “I’m sorry, but she needs to sit down.”
The woman assured me that it was no problem. She was dressed in all pink, too, like many of the Barbs were. “Barbs” is the official name for Nicki’s fans, which I think stands for Barbies because of the references in her songs to the popular doll.
After recovering from her dizziness spell and contributing it to the drop in the elevator, we headed over. We made it through the guards and the metal detector. Finally, we were inside TD Gardens.
