The greatest night of my life

Thrasher Magazine, Dec, 2003 by Sean Castillo

IT'S 7:24PM AND I'M STANDING OUTSIDE of Slim's. It's about 60 degrees outside, I'm freezing my ass off. A bum comes up to me with a sign reading: "2 Jokes for $1." My cheap ass doesn't feel like spending a dollar on a joke, so the guy in front of me and I both pitch in a quarter to hear just one. I don't quite remember the joke, but I do remember it was something about a pubic hair and masturbation. After the bum leaves I look around at the decaying buildings and smoke filled sky, and turn my attention across the street. I see a middle-aged Asian man yelling at a fellow skater for skating in front of his shop. I look forward only to hear the security yell, "Everybody needs to get back! Nobody is getting in if you don't get back!""

IT'S 8:35PM AND I'M STILL STANDING OUTSIDE of Slim's. It's still about 60 degrees and I'm still freezing my ass off. Another bum walks by me, but this time it's a guy beat boxing. I look forward and the security is still saying the same shit, but now he's even more pissed. He looks at the people crowding the doorway and points at each one of them one by one. "You, you and you--you're not gonna get in! Step back!" Inch by inch my friends and I creep up the street until we finally reach the door. I look around in anticipation and see none other than Bob Burnquist standing right next to my friend David. "David," I say. "Say something to him."

"Uh, no, dude. You."

"Fine." I look in Bob's direction and say, "Yo. What's up, Bob?" To my surprise he acknowledges me and says back, "Hey, what's up?" I can't believe it--I just talked to Bob Burnquist. I look back at my friend David and the look on his face says it all. We're both so stoked. Wouldn't you be? It's fucking Bob Burnquist! I finally get to the front of the line and hand the guy my ticket. He rips off the top and hands it back, just like the movies. I walk inside the doorway and a woman stamps my hands. I look down and see a blurred skull and cross bones--what a great way to let the world know I'm under 21. But still, I'm just excited to be there and I don't care.

I push and shove my way through the crowd until I can finally see the screen. It's 9:16 pm so I've already missed part of the movie, but it's all right, I can live without seeing Tony Hawk and Danny Way's part. I look up at the screen and it's John Cardiel front boardsliding a 20-something handrail. Gnarly. Everybody cheers and takes another chug of their beer. I look to my left to see who the guy bumping into me is, and guess who it is? Trainwreck. I can't believe this; I just said what's up to Bob Burnquist and now I'm standing right next to Trainwreck! I wanna say hi, but he looks pretty wasted. So I just turn to my right and show David who I'm standing by.

The video goes on and each part just gets better and better. When Reynolds' part comes on I pull out my video camera and start recording it. My arms begin to get sore from holding my camera above all the people, but I know deep down that it's worth it. After I finish bootlegging Reynolds' part, I sit back (stand actually) and watch the rest of the video. The video finishes and the screen rolls up. Then the fight goes on and everybody starts talking and walking around again. I look back at my friend Alberto and we decided to look for some more pros or just anybody interesting we can find. The two of us walk around, and the first person we see is Lindsey Robertson. I walk up to him instantly and ask to take a picture with him. He's really cool about it and we snap the shot.

We walk around some more and then we see Corey Duffel, dressed up like some gangster from the '30s. We walk up to him and talk; just random chit-chat about the Bay Area and local skate spots. Corey and I take a picture together, shake hands, and go off on our separate ways. Alberto and I walk around for a little while longer, and I stop in my tracks. I tap Alberto on the shoulder, "Dude, look. It's Jake Phelps," I say.

"Who the hell is that?" he asks.

"Dude, he's the editor of Thrasher!"

"So?"

"So I gotta take a picture with him."

I approach Jake (as calmly as possible, but I'm sure I looked pretty gay) and ask him for a picture. He's pretty cool about it, too. He puts his arm around me and throws out some gangs signs along with me. As soon as we finish taking the picture, I look and see Salman Agah standing there chillin'. I tell my friends to look, only to be greeted by looks of confusion. Nonetheless, I still go up to him and ask for a picture. He's down with it, and we get ready to take the picture. As soon as he and I finish taking a photo together, Jake comes back and gets in on the action. End result, one bad ass picture. I thank the both of them, and move on my merry way.

I stop for a little while and watch the band. Their name was the Hunns and they kicked some major ass. They were pretty sick. The chick they had playing bass was probably the most bad ass chick I'd ever seen, she was more into it than half the guys in the building.

As much as I am enjoying watching the band play, I have to move on and find some more pros. I walk around some more, and see Darrell Stanton there. I go up to him and say some stuff about how sick Clipper was (I'm sure he'd heard it a thousand times and I probably sounded pretty lame, but he was really cool and just listened). We take a picture together and I leave to go find another person to pose with. Then, I see him--Geoff Rowley. One of the sickest skaters on the planet is mere feet away from me. I couldn't believe it, Geoff Rowley! I go up to him and ask fur a picture, and to my surprise he's hella cool about it. We take the picture, then Geoff heads off to the bar. As if that hadn't made my night already, Alberto comes running up to me yelling, "Dude! Dustin Dollin is here! He's here!" I ask him where and we walk ever to the bar (hell yeah) to go take a picture with him. We get there, but then all of a sudden I see Geoff Rowley being tackled by three guys in "security" t-shirts. He's yelling and screaming every swear word there is, and to my amazement they're all geared towards Dustin Dollin. Dollin grabs his bar stool and turns it upside down, legs sticking out, ready to fuck up Rowley. Some other security guards get Dollin to put it down, only to have him grab his drink and throw it at Rowley, which hits him right in the face. Rowley is thrown--literally thrown--outside, and everybody follows to hear about the commotion.