I usually don’t think of myself as an overconfident kind of guy, but I always thought I could attend two concerts a few days apart without major difficulty. It turns out I should probably reassess my abilities.

Let me explain: I had booked a concert for Mac DeMarco on Friday and another one for tUnE-yArDs a few days later. I could barely realize how lucky I was, seeing two of my favourite bands live in so little time. I nonetheless held onto my senses and thoroughly prepared my itinerary from my doorstep to the venue using Google Maps.

“Turn right when facing the massive statue at the center of the square, go past that one café (provided it still exists), take the second right, then the first right. You will find yourself in a dark, narrow alley – carry on. Soon after, you will arrive at a nondescript wall with a sign reading “Café de la Danse”… and this is where you will spend an awesome evening!”

“Statue, right, café, second right, first right… Got it. Or at least I think so. Should I think up some mnemonics just to make sure?”

One run-through at a time, D-Day finally arrives.

At last, I have reached the last day of my personal calendar.

As is customary by me, I manage to somehow leave home at the last minute, helter-skelter, despite having had the whole afternoon to prepare.

Once in the streets, I loosen up a bit, knowing that so far I was on schedule.

I happily saunter to the metro station, smiling and without a care in the world.

By the time I arrive at the metro platform, however, only the smile remains… and, to be honest with you, the smile is then more of a desperate attempt at reassuring myself than a genuine display of happiness – the astute observer can tell by the way I nervously look around, pausing at times and making eye contact with strangers, seeking confirmation from them. All I get in return are puzzled looks – go figure.

The thing is, I am going to the “Café de la Danse”. This, I am sure of. Yet, for all the endless hours I have been spending blissfully gazing at my ticket (the way lovers do), the words “Mac DeMarco at le Café de la Danse” do not sound quite… “right” to me anymore.

Impulsively, I reach for my knee-level velcro pocket. And just as suddenly, I come around and jerk my hand back up, looking as if I just abruptly aborted an awkward stretching manoeuver.

There is simply no way I am taking The Ticket out of my triply sealed military-grade pocket. I would risk having it stolen by the hordes of frustrated, merciless fans all around me, already eyeing me wistfully, in desperate need of a ticket.

I opt for a lighter stretching exercise and go for my hip pocket to whip out my smartphone. You can buy a new smartphone, but not a new ticket.

In the sweep of an index (first on my part, then on Google’s), I land on the search results for “Mac DeMarco 16th May”.

Results abound, and they all agree on the fact that he would play at the concert venue “Le Trabendo” — and was supposed to all along, unless I was the hapless and unsuspecting victim of a practical joke of utmost cruelty and ruthlessness.

The concert was “Mac DeMarco at Le Trabendo”, and I was resolutely heading to the “Café de la Danse”.

I had mixed up the venues of the two concerts.

What a fool I would have been, waiting in front of le Café de la Danse together with a bunch of other clueless guys, complaining about how late the doors were opening and how surprisingly small the band’s fanbase was.

A curse runs through my mind.

If I want a chance at experiencing that bloody concert, I have no choice but to go with the flow and take in my stride whatever challenges life would throw my way. Right now, by all appearances, it means engaging in an improvised orienteering race. And boy am I game.

Before I carry on, it’s worth noting that up until now I have remained admirably collected all throughout this little event (or maybe too dazed to strongly react). I decide to put an end to it and produce The Ticket from my pocket to find out more about the whereabouts of the venue.

(Ironically, I hadn’t looked up the itinerary to Le Trabendo for fear of mixing up the two venues. Look where it got me…)

I hastily sweep through the information on the ticket in search of the arrondissement of the correct venue.

Bad news.

The venue where I was originally headed was very close to home, a mere 30-minute trip. The real venue, however, is located pretty much opposite to where I live.

When I first realized the mix-up a couple minutes ago, I still got on the metro, thinking I should save as much time as possible. If the venue wasn’t accessible through this metro line, I would be up the creek without a paddle. Fortunately, after studying the map on display in the metro, I find out that I am on the right track. Even better: it turns out that my new itinerary is a mere extension of the previous one, so I would actually pass the metro station of the wrong venue on my way to the right one.

Still, my sense of hurry doesn’t let up.

At each metro transfer, I sprint through the hallways, jostling old and young indiscriminately. Sympathetic passers-by hastily get out of my way as they hear me shout: “Make way, I am late for a concert !”. Some of them spontaneously take on escort roles without expecting anything in return, while others push me from the back to help me gain speed, all the while repeating at the top of their lungs the exceptional reason for the disturbance.

As I run my heart and lungs out, I can see and hear the opening band play in my mind, and I picture that one empty spot in the pit, where I was supposed to be. At this point, I am as convinced I will miss the opening act, “TONSTARTSSBANDHT”, as its name is unpronounceable. That’s a shame. I have been listening to them for a while on YouTube and really liked their music. Well, the blame was on me. I got what I deserved.

Just as I am nearing the final station and start fiddling around again with Google Maps – at the last minute, as usual –, it strikes me that the neighbourhood looks familiar… And with good reason! The last band I saw live, of Montreal, played at this exact same venue, and I was finding it funny at the time, considering the two bands also used to tour together and were often complicit in quite erratic behaviour on stage.

Good. That means I know the better way back home. And it also means that the band would most likely start thirty minutes after the doors open. In other words, there is still hope for me to arrive on time.

Fast forward a few minutes and here I am, at Le Trabendo, looking as if I had just come out of a concert — before it even started.

Read also: my review of Pond’s track “Sitting Up On Our Crane” and my review of Pond frontman Nicholas Allbrook’s track “Tramadol With Fear”