If you grew up in a small town like I did, you understand how little there is to do in the summer. With any form of entertainment being at least an hour’s drive away, you start to get desperate for activity. Lucky for my family, we came across an advertisement for a concert series in a neighboring town. Something to do in the summer! We saw a light at the end of the tunnel, folks.
My family jumped on this opportunity, and we were in the car 30 minutes later with boxed wine and sandwiches in tow. We chattered excitedly about our adventure on the way. It was going to be great! We arrived at the park and schlepped our gear to a large hill that seemed to be covered with people, almost like an infestation of ants on a piece of watermelon. It was like a collection of all the people you don’t want to stand next to in line at a theme park—screaming kids and soccer moms included. Regardless of the chaos, my parents were still determined to make this a great outing for their unimpressed teenaged offspring. We found a small patch of grass and set up camp with hopes that the persistent sun would soon go behind a cloud. It didn’t.
One hour later, we were all huddled behind one folding chair desperate for shade. Now, my family is fairly scrappy and we aren’t strangers to the sun, but the 100-degree heat with direct sunlight was more than we could handle. Were the other attendants immune to this sweltering heat? Maybe they had snuck in something stronger than boxed pinot to help them get through the evening. Basically, we felt like wimps and, despite the (at this point) guaranteed skin cancer, we decided to stick it out for the band that had not yet started.
We should have interpreted their weak opener as a sign of what was to come. Needless to say “Party Like It’s 1999” did not reach the millennial fever pitch that Prince had promised. The song ended on a nostalgic, but depressing note when the band sent shout-outs to the crowd which were largely unanswered. I can only assume this was because everyone was too busy fighting heat stroke to respond to the pitiful call.
A few songs later, a B52s number inspired some tipsy moms to get up and shake what Mother Nature was starting to take away from them. It was a little disturbing. Spirits were raised even further when “Jesse’s Girl” started. Too bad the lead singer sounded like YouTube star, Miranda Sings. For those of you who are unfamiliar, here she is. I wish I was kidding.
My optimistic father begged us to give the experience more time to improve, although all I could think about was my air-conditioned home far away from this circus show. I decided to embrace the sun and lay back on our blanket for a little tan. I shut my eyes and let my mind take me to a beach. I was just starting to relax when a sharp pain jarred me back to reality. Someone had stepped on my ponytail! I shot straight up to see who had perpetrated this heinous act and watched a giant woman stumble across our picnic blanket. She hadn’t even seen me, but we sure saw her. She wore a free flowing dress that left little to the imagination as she stepped right over my face. I saw more than anyone should have seen and may be scarred for life. Great, now I need a therapist and a dermatologist.
Thankfully, my sister had watched the entire ordeal and could back up my story so my family wouldn’t think I was making an excuse to leave. I held up a handful of ripped
out hair as evidence and they agreed with me that it was time to blow this
popsicle stand. We packed ourselves up and were off to the car seconds later. We
did our best to warn newcomers to turn back while they had a chance, but some
were set on discovering their own demise. Bless their souls for they may have
actually melted that evening.
