Picture Story, an idea inspired by Bobby Hawthorne. Every person has a story. In order to be able to tell other people’s stories, a journalist must be able to tell his own. We asked our new staff take a picture that they hold dear, whether they took it, or someone they knew did and write the story behind the image.

My phone flies through the air and lands unto my bed as I quickly follow its flight path much less gracefully. I had just been reminded by Glen, my childhood friend, that I was going to what would be one of the best events of my life in less than 24 hours. My reaction to this, for some odd reason, was to throw my phone and myself across my room in a level of joy unheard of by man. This resulted in my already painfully injured cellular device to take some more unwanted damage. I could basically hear it saying, “Kill me already.”

I had stayed up the entire night listening to every song that had anything to do with Chance The Rapper I could think of to prepare for the upcoming concert. The next day I had my earbuds in during all of the school day. Living in my own little world of blissful isolation. As I got home and 6 p.m. drew closer on my clock I got increasingly excited. As if every minute passing multiplied my adrenaline by 10 with little lightning bolts of raw energy. Of course, Glen was a few minutes late of the previously agreed upon time but that was just what I was expecting from the human embodiment of the word “gumpy.”

After our uneventful drive to the stadium that was the mythical place about to be holding the second coming of rap Jesus. I couldn’t contain my inner basic social media user as I unleashed a terrible flood of boring pictures with even blander filters onto my very reluctant Snapchat audience. Combining this with the horrible battery life all my electronics have been cursed with, my phone dies promptly before we even find our seats. After we walked around The Palace, convincing ourselves we just absolutely needed to buy the ridiculously expensive merch. We decided to find our seats.

As we begin to descend into The Palace’s lower seats I look ahead to our row and notice something my Gump companion wouldn’t realize until hours into the performance. That something was the people who surround our seats, one side having two girls who look as if they were made just to make me blush and forget how to talk around them. And the other side having a giant group of bros who seemed to have been stuck in a frat with no hope of escape for little over a decade. As my brain finishes processing this incredibly important piece of information I rush to our destination before the towering wall of flesh I call my friend so I won’t be stuck near the men who have been reeking of axe spray and body odor since the fifth grade.

Once my little gumpster reached our seating arrangements he sat down with no sign of wanting a trade which is perfect for my devious self. The show begins with a DJ who goes by the name Oreo playing America’s favorite bops of the last 15 years, while these hits are being blasted through the thousands of bodies that are filling the stadium to the brim I begin to let the music take me. This results with the shedding of my shell of social anxiety and unbelieveable awkwardness.This newfound confidence led to me shooting my pathetic, clumsy shot. The stadium must have been darker than I had thought because this lady of my dreams ended up dancing with me throughout the night.

Knowing that all of my friends at school would never believe this. Due to the fact I look like if a ginger who grew up never seeing the sun and a troll with especially bad acne had a child. My first thought was to take a selfie with this goddess who I assumed was dancing with me out of a pity that I appreciate more than anything else in the world. The one problem with my brilliant plan is that my phone had been dead for three hours, I decide to go to my ever-obedient lackey, asking for his phone in order for me to document something actually good happening to me for the first time in my life. 

I was expecting a quick, “yes,” and an easy transfer of his phone to me but I was met with a reluctance I had never before seen in this man, he had finally noticed my egotistical move and was rather angry with me over, thankfully my wonderful way with words convinces the man-beast to give me his phone in order to take what would be my first serious selfie. I came back to my mistress of pity and ask her for her hand in photography which she shockingly said, “yes,” to. I smiled bigger than I ever had before and have done few times since. Sadly,- the lack of light in the room and the lack of selfie experience in my part the picture ended with her looking pretty as a wood nymph with good music taste, and me. Looking like a chunky goofball who was too afraid to get close to the first girl to show any interest in him. Even though the photo isn’t of the highest quality it stills makes me smile and remember that you should always shoot your shot no matter how high the odds are stacked against you.