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looking device from a basket on her desk and shoved it at me.
    “T his will be your work phone now; keep it charged and on you at all times. After you get done with the rider, will you head over to the dry cleaners on thirty-second and Boon? We are leaving this weekend for the first half of the tour, so make sure you are packed and ready to go by Thursday night.”
    “Tour?” The words stumbled out of my mouth; I didn’t plan on leaving Seattle anytime soon. I was just a lonely PA, not a roadie.
    “Yes tour, do you not have a clue who you work for?” Stephanie’s voice so unded irritated and not amused at my lack of knowledge.
    “Yes , ma’am, I know you manage high profile bands, but I figured I was just a PA.”
    “Oh , aren’t you cute? Yes, you are my PA, but since I’m not available to be on the road at all times you are my eyes and ears to get things done. You don’t have a problem with traveling, do you?” Stephanie paused before collapsing into her plush chair.
    I shook my head quickly, unsure if the words that babbled come out of my mouth would be the ones I wanted to actually say. My mind worked faster than it should in situations like that, and I always seemed to say the exact opposite to whatever was being asked of me. Once again, my social awkwardness was on display for everyone to see.
    “Alright then; well get this done, and get my dry cleaning. I’ll see you at nine tomorrow. If you have any problems, my cell number is programed in the contact list,” Stephanie gushed, shooing me away with her hand.
    “Got it, and thanks for the opportunity to work with you,” I rambled while turning for the door. Suddenly the glass was closer than I realized, and I inelegantly decided to smack face first into the door. “Oomph,” I let out a small noise, rubbing my now red forehead.
    “Please, just make it through tonight,” I heard Stephanie grumble as she picked up the phone. Turning to give my new boss a small smile, I pushed the large door open and sheepishly slinked out into the hallway. Seriously, Molly, could you get any more pathetic? Wait, I really don’t want to know that answer.
     
    The ride over to the Tacoma Dome wasn’t as long as I anticipated, thus giving me very little time to actually look over the list and mentally prepare myself. I knew what a rider was, basically a long list of wants and needs from the artist. Brides had these things, too; they just didn’t normally  consist of six boxes of condoms and three new packages of underwear.
    The parking lot was already packed and fans were scattered everywhere, the majority of them being women. Unsure of what door I should enter through, I asked the cabbie to just drop me off in front. I knew there had to be some sort of back door entrance, but this being my first day and all; I really had no clue how to go about it.
    “Holy shit,” I said to myself. The women standing in the gigantic line were not like women back home. It’s not like we lived a totally sheltered life in Georgia, we just didn’t have that. Most of these women looked like street walkers, considering that the few pairs of underwear I did own covered more than their skirts. Who the hell was playing tonight? I forgot to ask, I wondered to myself as I glanced around for the ticketing booth. Large Black Laden posters plastered the doors of the entrance. H oly two humped camels.
    I’m pretty sure I peed a little at that moment. Never in a million years did I ever think I would be working for Black Laden. Well , technically I worked for NT Management, who apparently managed Black Laden, which makes me their employee. Right? Who the F cares, I had loved that band since their first album, Denial, hit the airwaves six years ago. They played the kind of music that you cranked up after a bad day, letting all the emotion of their lyrics bleed your soul dry until you feel absolutely nothing. Their first record got me through my one and only heartbreak, something that I refused