Indie Boys aren't always wonderful...
by Mint

I am an avid concert goer, a hardcore music snob, an all around pretentious ass when it comes to indie rock. I live in one of the most miserable towns in the United States, so I haven't been able to find a boy with interests the same as mine, because everyone around here is very close minded and stuck in their own little world.

So, one weekend I have nothing better to do so I go to a concert at a skate shop in town. It's really small but some really awesome bands from the next state over were playing so I decided that I would go, and maybe I would see some new people. One boy instantly caught my eye. He was small and lithe with an Interpol shirt on, khaki pants, and a open button up pinstriped shirt over the top. Now, I'm not too keen on kids who are into "mainstream" indie (The Killers, Interpol, etc), but he held my attention the rest of the night because no one around here really even knows the "mainstream" indie bands. At one point I was on the edge of the mosh pit and I got knocked backwards, and he caught me and helped me up. I was quite keen on him by now and thanked him for it.

After the fourth band played I was outside cooling off and he was smoking a cig with some friends. (Don't like the smokers, but hell, whatever) I met his eyes and he came over to me, smiling, and struck up a conversation. Seems we hit it off quite well. He was an amazing conversationalist and he knew what he was talking about. Quite charmed, I gave him my phone number and left for home (although now I figure I should have stuck around).

As soon as I get home (I live on the top of a mountain so it takes about half an hour to get home), my phone rings. I answer it, and it's him! Excited at attention from a boy (I've been single god knows how long), and especially such a nifty one, we talked for about two to three hours. We both wanted him to come up and listen to records but by then it was about two and I wasn't sure what my parents would do if they found a boy asleep on the couch the next morning. So he says that he should get going, but he'll call me the next day at around noon and we'll go get coffee.

Delighted, I get up the next day and get ready, then sit around and sift through my record collection. For an hour.

For two hours.

For three hours.

Three o clock rolls around and still no phone call.

And to this day that asshole hasn't called me.

Once.

~February 2005

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