The audience works hard, too

Since I was young, I’ve had two dreams: to marry Natalie Portman and to go to the Grammys…. Since I was young, I’ve had two dreams: to marry Natalie Portman and to go to the Grammys. Last Sunday, as I graced the red carpet, one of those dreams came true. Well, sort of. I didn’t really get to walk on the red carpet, and the red carpet wasn’t red. It was green. Further dampening the fulfillment of my dream, being at the Grammys involved several lesser-known oddities and surprising disappointments (like standing in line for half a day, starving, being in a dull and indifferent atmosphere, and wearing girls’ pants.) But even though everything behind the scenes at the Grammys wasn’t captivating, it was still probably cooler than what you did Sunday night.

“So, what’s it like?”

My role at the 47th Grammy Awards was what the industry calls a “seat filler,” meaning, I helped persuade TV viewers into thinking that the audience was actually having fun and that the Staples Center was actually filled with people. It was my job to fill in the empty seats when Gwen Stefani had to appear on stage to roll her sexy abs, or when Melissa Etheridge had to sneak away to polish up.

I met the rest of my seat-filling group at the Los Angeles Coliseum parking lot six hours prior to the show. We were to be shuttled by bus to the awards. This is where I spent most of my day.

It was the most agonizing six hours of my life. I thought I was going to be a fan, but instead I was made a Grammy automaton. Six hours on my feet, no food, no drink, no bathroom, for what had to be the most unorganized and inefficient process ever devised. I don’t think anybody really knew what was going on — not even those in charge of getting us in.

Workers were letting some leave earlier, and people in limos and Ferraris kept pulling up and cutting in front of us. We kept hearing the same orders: no cameras, phones or alcohol. Only the “talent” was allowed to get drunk. We were told that when we got there, we would have to sit up straight, look sexy and not scream that we wanted to have sex with Usher.

On top of all that, about three hours into my wait, I was rudely informed that I was inappropriately dressed for “the Academy Awards of music.” My pants were apparently not up to par. I was wearing American Eagle jeans with my dress shirt and suit jacket because I wanted to be trendy. But again, I was told that only the stars could be trendy. Seat fillers had to be classy.

As I was running — literally running — to find a fancy pants store in a city that I had never been to before, panic struck me and I feared that I might miss my only opportunity to go to the Grammys. So I did what anybody would do; I prayed.

Somebody must have been listening, because as I turned the next corner, there it was — an upper-class clothing store! Whoever was listening, however, must have enjoyed watching me suffer; I went inside only to find that I was in a women’s clothing store. I was desperate, though, and this was the Grammys. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Yes, that’s right. I wore girl pants to the Grammys. Nice, black, satin pants, with no pockets and a crotch tight enough to squeeze any sense of humiliation out of my mind.

This short shopping venture put me dead last in line. I now feared getting there late or not even getting to go at all. On the edge of despair, I managed to do a little smooth talking to one of the people in charge. They took me out of line and moved me onto the next bus. Before I knew it, I was being led past security into the Grammys.

Now, being a seat filler, I was supposed to move around as needed — like musical chairs — to make sure that the Grammy crew got the best camera shots when flows of people moved in and out of the audience. I, however, was lucky enough to keep my seat the entire show, because ironically, the show was neither crowded nor frenzied. In contrast to the utter chaos outside, I noticed that everyone inside the Staples Center was pretty low-key after the opening musical collage, especially the stars. Picture a school assembly in your elementary gym. It was that bland and awkward. As I pondered this, I found myself a little disappointed. I traveled 2,400 miles for this?

My thoughts, however, were cut short when I found myself needing to make room for Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas to get through. As I went to stand, she looked at me, touched my leg and said, “You’re fine.” Now, one could take this to mean one of two things: a) that I was fine in my seat and there was no need for me to move, or b) that she thought I was dead sexy. I prefer to believe the latter. I was now utterly content for the rest of the night. But was there anything else that made my time enjoyable? Did the Grammys in any way live up to their hype?

Although the stars themselves were pretty lackluster and the awards felt no different than any other award ceremony, there was the music. The vast and varying display of musical performances outshined, by far, any concert that I have ever gone to. Never before have I witnessed such a grand effort to present music. Jamie Foxx and Alicia Keys’ duet sent shivers up my spine, and Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks” was equally powerful.

There, when the musicians were performing, is where the Grammy’s came alive. The audience — the entire audience — took to their feet for standing ovations after several of the performances. There was so much energy, so much excitement, that it made all of the waiting, all of the frustration, the fact that I was wearing girl pants, every other annoyance or disappointment, seem irrelevant. The music is what made the night so special, not the fancy dresses, or all the celebrities together in one room. It was all about what the awards intended to venerate, the music.