F**k Them Kids
Is there anything more aggravating like “adults” acting like children? I’m not talking about the general tomfoolery of going crazy in a bar. Everyone needs a little childlike release now and then.
No, I mean aping the mannerisms of a child caught doing the wrong thing — shutting down, crying instead of listening, blaming someone else who isn’t even remotely responsible.
I recently worked the Breakaway Music Festival. It was a fun two days of music I mostly tolerate and people watching. Oh, the people watching. EDM festivals are like Renaissance Faires if history played out exactly like Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure & Bogus Journey.
The most immature individuals attempted to either sneak alcohol into the field or jump a fence. The boozehounds did it comically. I saw bottles strapped to abdomens like cash in a heist movie, resealable bags of liquor hidden in boots — underneath the feet — and hidden in “super secret” pockets near the inner thigh. I saw more on Day 2 than Night 1, which is gross because there’s not one mouth source for those bottles or bags that wasn’t sweat-saturated in the 90-degree heat.
If I got there in time, I made them pour it out, or they’d slam it in front of me like some big power play. It looks childish. Good luck with your UV Blue hangover tomorrow.
The fence jumpers on Night 1 were actually pretty chill, jumping from VIP to GA instead of the more normal route. Was GA more crowded? You bet. But the sight lines were admittedly better. VIP simply means fewer people and nicer bathrooms.
On Day 2, the jumpers turned violent.
While the front barricade dealt with a sucker-punched guest, I had three hoppers. Hopper 1 stood and looked at me as if I was the problem. Staring blankly up at me asking why he was singled out.
“You jumped right in front of me.”
”But… like yeah. I don’t know what you want.”
"Go back," I said, motioning to the VIP entry/exit..
”But I belong here.”
”No, you don’t. You have no wristband, no lanyard, no common sense.”
He was also wearing a bright green shirt and a pink bucket hat. Despite being able to jump over the fence — twice — he rested from exhaustion on the other side. As I was crossing in interior gate H1 sped off, his pink hat bobbing up and down through the crowd. I caught up to him less than 20 seconds later.
“How’d you find me?”
One of the mysteries of the universe.
Hopper 2 pushed back immediately after he landed on me. Dude, you’re even easier to spot than the last guy. H2 tried to shove me and run, so I picked him up and threw him over the gate in which he came. After the final set, a radio station guy said, “I’ve never seen someone just pick up another person like that.”
Well, read the blog it happens fairly often.
Hopper 3 looked like he wanted to fight. He ran right at me, then hopped the bike rack into VIP at the last second.
And instantaneously ate shit. He got a shoe caught in one slot and went hard into the earth. I grabbed onto some of his shirt to corral him back, but he wriggled free. He raced off after shimmying his head and arms out of their holes.
Left with a handful of cloth and a mouth open, I tossed the aloha shirt behind me and darted after him. He experienced the “joys” of Porter Robinson’s DJ set for approximately 40 seconds.
Not everyone was so physically hostile.
There was one gap in the gate line — the swinging door panel that lets production, police, security, and exhausted festival goers in and out of the alleyway. If you’re bold enough and nobody was around or leaning on it, this was your access point.
It’s not a great access point because someone (me) was in the alleyway from the early hours until show end. If I wasn’t, team patrolled the area every few minutes.
This man was easy to spot. No badges, no bands, no lanyards. Hanging over the bike rack, staring away from the stage. I walked up and asked him where his wristbands were.
“I’m allergic.”
”To what?”
”I can’t wear anything. I’m allergic.”
He was wearing a tan button down shirt, a beige crusher hat, black thick-rimmed glasses, corduroy shorts, socks, and shoes.
“Well, what about a lanyard?
”I’m allergic to that, too.”
Amazing.
“OK. What about your ticket? Show me your ticket and I won’t have to come and talk to you ever again.”
The man was already holding several items. He had a cocktail, a Red Bull, and a phone. This being 2023, his ticket could easily be brought up on his phone.
That was already in his hand.
No, no. Too easy. Let’s put the phone in my cocktail and Red Bull hand, he thought, to search the fanny pack to fool this tall dumb security guard.
You know who can hold hold multiple things in one hand? Servers and multi-tasking women in a hurry who forgot their purse. End of list.
Not short and stocky men dressed like Jack Black from Jumanji suffering under this heat.
The phone changed hands, then out came the cocktail, down went the Red Bul and phone. He threw his arms up to the hevans in disgust.
“Oh great, look what you made me do!”
Then he picked up his phone and stormed off in a huff.
Children.
