It was July 2014. My album, Up.Rooted, was still buzzing from spins on NPR, USA Today, and a weekend hang with Shakira and Enrique Iglesias. It was time for my yearly trek to NYC for the Latin Alternative Music Conference (LAMC). Think tiny baby SXSW for Latino music makers, movers, and shakers.
Panels boast heavy hitters: music supervisor for Nike, president of the Latin Grammys, head of multicultural content at Google, all of whom actually hang around to exchange business cards for your latest music. Networking, baby. Jodi, my partner in life and the engine behind all things Gina Chavez music, was with me, and for a girl who equates preparation with over-the-counter cream, I was prepared! Branded business cards, NYC show fliers, 40 shrink-wrapped albums. Listos!
We landed at JFK and hopped a nearly empty train at Jamaica Station. By the time we hit midtown, the train was packed. Jodi and I had miscalculated the best stop to get us uptown, so we decided to hop off two stops before our planned exit for a better route. It wasn't until the band stepped onto the platform that I noticed our black carry-on was ... still on the train!
The doors slammed shut and poof! All our clothes, shoes, and gear disappeared into the abyss.
I sprinted to the subway kiosk attendant who said, "Well, why would you leave your bag on the train?" It was midnight by the time we found ourselves buying a cheap replacement wardrobe at the Forever 21 on Times Square. We got panties at Walgreens.
To this day, I'm convinced I'll find someone performing in the subway with my loop station while hawking my CDs. But it's the panties I wonder about most. We dubbed it the #bringbackmypantiestour.
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