I have no idea how to really go into this memory, but it
came up in conversation with a friend this week and I definitely wanted to
share it. Fair warning…this has no underlying meaning, so if anybody tells you
it does (like when people try to say Star Wars has some underlying Republican/Democrat
meaning) they are wrong (especially about Star Wars). Think of this as a guilty pleasure entry,
like when Dinkus watches Down Below or when I watch Rick and Morty (still not
as good as The Simpsons).
Many moons ago I used to go to Dave Matthews Band concerts
all the time (do not judge me)…like I spent way too much money, time, petro
(that’s Australian for gas, I’ve really been listening to a lot of
Australian-based podcasts…Do Go On and The Weekly Planet rule!) and anything
else associated with DMB (again, don’t judge me). One of these concert trips
was…interesting…to me at least.
So my friend and I were on the road to Star Lake Amphitheater
outside of Pittsburgh (Lets go Pens) and he got into this real deep
philosophical discussion about how he was going to be a better person. That
meant no more alcohol, no more weed, no more being a douche (that would be the
hardest, if you knew this guy…I kid…not really), etc. He had already gone a
couple of months without smoking. He was passionate about this change. He was
animated. He had convinced me this was going actually happen.
We both talked about being in our early twenties and how we
needed to finally start growing up a bit. We were in committed relationships,
we were starting real careers and we were paying bills on a semi-regular basis
(eh…maybe not). We started to reminisce about previous concerts, stupid college
(or University for those across the pond) antics. For me, it was a little bit
of a somber conversation. We were basically admitting that our youth was
slipping away (people in their twenties are stupid, especially me and most
especially my friend, more on that soon).
We pulled into the stone and grass parking lot prepared to
hang out and then enjoy several hours of jam band fun (by the way DMB plays for
three hours, Steve Miller Band played for like an hour…you suck Steve Miller
Band). This is important…go back and reread the last two paragraphs, I can
wait. Seriously, reread them and the epiphany-type conversation we had. Ok, on
with the story…
As soon as we pulled into our spot, and I mean my friend
wasn’t even completely out of the car, two Phish head Beths (you know the kind;
dirty dreads, faded hemp clothes, wreaks like weed and body odor) offered him
weed. He immediately accepted. He looked over at me and with the straight face
that only he could conjure up he said “Well, I guess those couple of months of
not smoking are over.” I just laughed and walked to the trunk of my 2001 Alero
(Oldsmobile baby!).
As he walked around the front of my car to meet Phish Head
Beth #1, she was already handing him a bowl. I can say this without any doubt,
his hand was a mere few inches from accepting the bowl when out of nowhere
(actually it was from further down the parking lot) a Phish Head Bob came
sprinting down holding some tattered tackle box. He got lit up like a Christmas Tree in the Eat N Park commercial (trust me watch that link) by an undercover
police offer…on…the…hood…of…my…car (like five feet from my friend and Phish
Head Beth #1 holding a bowl between them). They, along with everybody within a
20 foot range, froze to watch the proceedings.
After the cop cuffed Phish Head Bob (remember it’s on the
hood of my car) and wrestled the stinky burnout back to an upright position,
they went on their way.
My friend turned back to the two Phish Head Beths and said “You
know what, I’m good.”
Now, that is not quite the end of the story because in life
there is no fade to black or dissolves to end a scene. You see after the Hemp
Star was arrested we were still beside these two women. After they smoked in
their car, they reemerged to join the rest of the world and talk to us.
Not ones to let an opportunity go by for a laugh, we decided
to mess with the glassy-eyed disasters whose parents clearly failed. They asked
us how we met, we said college. They asked which college, I said NYU and my
friend UPJ (I think you see where this going). They asked if I wanted a beer, I
told them I was a recovering alcoholic and rattled off some random number of
days I was sober. In their best sleepy voices they told me it was amazing how
recovering addicts always knew the exact numbers of days…probably said three or
four different days of sobriety to them.
We told them we were brothers (we look nothing alike…he’s an Italian
Stallion and I’m a Norse Force…teehee), after telling them we were friends.
These girls were toast…I mean that. Totally and completely burnt to a crisp (how
I like bacon!). I don’t even remember how our conversation with them ended,
maybe they are still there (if you see them, tell them to go home and bathe).
That is it, I do not have a good way to end this one. So…um…good
bye, for how…I guess.
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