FicWad

Dirty, my friends, is not a name, so when the person meeting me at the airport asked me to refer to him by this name, I was, to say the least, amused. Too amused, and I think he, for some odd reason, really liked it. He asked my name, and where I was from, and subconsciously, I noted that there were about 12 people on my plane, that had been with me the whole entire flight, doing the same thing I was. It's a small world after all...

"The Rules, my friends, are this. Don't get in trouble. I don't want anyone getting in trouble. No picking you up at police stations, no paying for damages you're responsible for, no ruining Pete Wentz's life. Please leave this up to me." At this, everyone laughed. I didn't know who Pete Wentz was, so I simply stood and waited for more instructions. I still, as I'm writing this right now, don't know who it is, making it not funny.....still.

"You probably don't need my help getting to know each other, so please try and get along in the process of doing so. And by the way, don't come to me for advice. It's unlikely I'll be giving you any advice worth following."


And with that, he drove. And while he's driving, I'm in the back of an off-smelling van writing this to you. For you. About you. I'm kidding. And in case you all were curious, I still don't know where I'm going. I'm in Chicago. This is the extent of my knowledge. Why Chicago? Why me? Why did anyone even look at my application? I'm glad they did, because something tells me this is going to be much different that any tour I've ever worked on.

We're at an old warehouse filled with loads and loads of sound equipment for me to load and load. I'll be with you later.