Saturday, March 10th, 9:24am – Lobby of Convention Center
"Let me explain this – one more time – more slowly," Blaine seethed, forcing his inner diva into a corner. "I can't go change my daughter or my niece in the girls' dressing room – because I don't have the requisite girl parts. They're 8 and 9 – therefore too young to change themselves."
"Well maybe one of the other moms-"
Blaine didn't let the adorable young woman finish her thought. "Right. Because they're not busy with their own daughters. No. Not a solution. My issue is – I know our team director made sure you knew – maybe not you," Blaine made a point of glancing at her nametag, "Susie. But that the directors of the competition knew that my kids were coming with their two gay fathers – and therefore, needed a separate changing space. A family changing place. Frankly, I don't care who we share it with. My kids aren't bothered by body parts. But other people are, so in trying to be mindful, we always make prior arrangements. Therefore, if you can't find us a place to change, please go find the person who can. I'll be right here, standing in front of your cash register, until you do."
Glancing over his shoulder, Blaine offered a tired smile to Finn before locking eyes with his son, gesturing with his head for Everett to join him.
"Grab your small jazz costume and find the boys' changing room. Then find Maya. The girls are probably in the upstairs changing area."
"The one with the windows?"
"That's the one. Have Maya text me when you're with her and I'll text her where we end up so you can find me to change again."
A throat clearing drew Blaine's attention. Susie had been replaced with Daniel. "Sir, could I ask you to step aside so I can help the other people behind you with their purchases?"
"You could ask, Daniel, but my answer is a decided 'no'." It was quite obvious Daniel hadn't expected Blaine to refuse to move. Shrugging unapologetically as other parents sighed dramatically behind him, Blaine smirked.
"Mr. Hummel?"
Blaine turned towards a man about his age, dressed in a dark suit and tie. "Mr. Anderson. Mr. Hummel is my husband," he explained, holding out his hand, shaking the other man's hand firmly.
"Mr. Anderson, I'm terribly sorry for the confusion. We did receive your request for changing space, and if you'll follow me, I'll walk you back to your room. I'm Ben, by the way."
Striding over to where Finn and the girls were standing, Blaine took the handle of the rolling suitcase his children shared, and gestured for Ben to lead the way. Blaine was familiar with the layout of the convention hall, having attended several dance competitions and other events in this particular location. Ben was leading them through the long hallway that led to the side and back stage area. Soon they were standing to the side of a staircase that led to the second story of the building, waiting for twenty or so tap dancers to carefully make their way down the metal steps.
"We found a small dressing room in between the four larger dressing rooms. It's right next to the two rooms we designated for the boys' changing rooms. My only concern is that it's really small," Ben explained, silently offering to take Ana and Amelia's bags for them as they climbed the steps.
Navigating the hallway to the dressing rooms was nearly impossible. Just wide enough for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder, it was packed with dancers who needed to stretch or practice, and parents frantic to make sure hair, makeup and costumes were performance ready.
By the time Blaine pulled up to the single person dressing room, Ben was having a heated conversation with two dance moms who had apparently removed the 'reserved' sign from the door and taken over the space.
"I'm sorry, but you'll need to find space within one of the other dressing rooms," Ben explained firmly.
"There's no room," one of the women shot back, continuing to work on her daughter's hair.
"You'll need to find space within one of the other dressing rooms. Whether or not you 'saw' a sign that clearly stated this dressing room was reserved, you need to pack up your things right now," Ben continued calmly.
"Isn't possession nine tenths of the law?" asked the second mother snidely.
"Well, I'm not sure about that," Ben commented, glancing back at Blaine and rolling his eyes. "But what I do know for sure is that refusing to cooperate with the competition director, which would be me, is grounds for disqualifying your entire team. Not just your children, but their entire studio. And I happen to know that Revolution Dance Studios registered just shy of two hundred dancers for 60ish routines. So, Ladies, should I go find Ms. Denise and let her know that the Revolution dancers can go home? Or will you be relocating?"
The two mothers grumbled under their breaths as they slammed the costumes, makeup and cans of hair product back into their bags and shoved their way through the crowded hallway. It might have been unintentional but 9/10ths of the Law's bag, hooked over her shoulder, somehow ended up slamming Amelia in the eye, nearly knocking her down the staircase. Only the sharp reflexes of two older dancers saved the 9 year old from a particularly bad fall.
Picking up his sniffling niece, Finn glared at the retreating women, yelling out, "What an amazing example you're setting for your kids." Passing Amelia over to Blaine, Finn encouraged Ana into the small dressing room as the first mom came tearing back up the hallway.
"Excuse me?" she shriked.
"No," Finn growled, turning so he was blocking the entire hallway with his broad form. "You slammed your bag into my niece, nearly knocked her down the stairs, after acting like you own this place. No apology. No concern. Who the heck do you think you are? Because you're not the one out on the stage – your kid is. You're not the one with your name on a billboard. So how 'bout you drop the diva act. I don't even put up with that from my wife anymore."
Sighing, Finn turned and stood in the doorway of the dressing room. "The next time Rachel and Kurt get an offer for a touring show … it better not be during competition season. They owe us."
Snickering, Blaine knelt on the floor and began unpacking the duffle bags containing the hair products and make up they would need for the day's competition. "Kurt promised us a ten-day cruise to Alaska." Glancing up, he smirked. "And the kids will be at Camp Burt and Carole."
"I hate you," Finn muttered without heat.
"You love me, because you couldn't do this without me."
"I thought we were bros, dude."
"Oh, we are. Who else could you call to help you with this? Exactly. Now start unpacking."