Going Galatic While The Rona is Hot
It all started with a text on Wednesday from my friend Will.
Hey bud, I got an extra seat in my car for the galactic show at UNO. Obviously the rona is hot right now and I completely understand if you want to keep the distance, but the offer stands.
At first I thought my friend was losing it. There weren’t any concerts anymore, not in the new normal, not with all the paranoid mouthbreathers refusing to mask up and infecting the rest of us with their stupidity. No, concerts were a thing of the past, and maybe the future, depending on when and if humanity found its intelligence again. But right now, the best one could do was sit back on the couch, crack open a beer, pop open youtube, and watch some old concert footage of your favorite band, while pretending like you’re sitting in the fifth row and having a great time with your friends. I have been fond of saying that in a time of social distancing and isolation, a delusional mindset is usually your best friend. But it seemed like my buddy Will took that expression a little too far.
But then that first part of his text kept coming back to me. I got an extra seat in my car… at first I thought he was just trying to save me gas money, until I remembered some whispers over the internet about a new sort of form of live entertainment that was popping up in parking lots and other open spaces.
Wait, is this one of those drive-in concert things? I texted back.
Yep, he replied a few minutes later. Before adding, you in?
I gave this some considered thought. On the one hand, I yearned for human interaction and social debauchery the way a cat yearns for food five minutes after its been feed, but on the other hand, in the last few weeks my involvement on social media had pretty much been restricted to me shouting into the internet ether: “Stay the fuck home you idiots! None of this is gonna get better if you don’t stay home!”
Aside from my own safety, the fear of looking like a hypocrite concerned me as well. People already have enough reasons to be annoyed with me, I don’t need to add “disingenuous son of a bitch” to their list. But in the end, the mental image of me outside, among people, scattered about though they might be, dancing to some funky music with an alcoholic beverage in my hand was just too much to pass up. And besides, the whole promise with these new kind of shows was that they were safe. Social distancing at all times. Could that guarantee my safety and health? No, probably not. But then again…
I’m in, I texted back. Let’s do this!
Fuck yeah! He replied. Come by my place at like 4:45 on Friday, BYOB. Gonna be fun.
That night I found that familiar four letter acronym crawling around in my brain. BYOB. Unreal. Bring your own beer to a fucking concert. Truly the new normal. The bastards who used to charge you fifteen bucks per watered down beer now have no choice but to let you in with a twelve pack that cost twelve bucks at the gas station while they see none of the profit. I went to sleep smiling that night. Say what you will about the rona and all the tragedy it’s brought, at least some of the worst aspects of America’s greed has been highlighted and damaged because of it.
On Friday I show up to Will’s place around 5:10. He’s already sent me two texts wondering where I am. I’m confused by this. I know he said to arrive at 4:45 but I assume he just wants to pre-party at his place for a couple of hours beforehand. After all, it doesn’t get dark in the summer until like 8:30. But then I arrive and I see him and his girlfriend packing up his station wagon with supplies. I tilt my head like a confused dog.
“Where ya been bro?” he asks me, “we gotta go in like a minute. Concert starts at 6.”
“6? But it doesn’t get dark til like 8:30, how long is the show?”
“Like two hours.”
“So… it’s a concert during the day?”
He nods in affirmation and I frown in disappointment. This is not how I pictured it. I pictured us standing in some massive parking lot out in the east, circling our car with gyrating hips, freaking out to some funk. But most importantly I pictured all of this happening with the glimmering stars and the dark night sky hovering above us. In my head this was a collective meeting of social werewolves howling at the moon. Instead I would have to endure the sweltering sun, and the humidity that came with it.
“The thought of a bunch of drunk, nocturnal concert goers forgetting about social distancing must scare the shit out of them,” I tell the others, who all agree, it’s the only logical explanation.
Speaking of the others, there is another person in the mix that I was not expecting. Aside from Will and his girlfriend, Annie, there’s JP, a man of short stature, bearded, and a shaved head. In other words, a sort of mirror image of me. He’s friendly enough, and I suspect after a couple of beers we’ll be acting like long lost friends.
“Hey Will, I brought some weed too, so we can smoke there,” I tell him casually as if it’s not a big deal. But it kinda is a big deal because I almost never have my own supply and sorta just mooch off others in that department, especially around Will. So I’m expecting him to be delighted. Instead he hits me with this:
“Ah, well, there’re rumors that they’ll be dogs at the security entrance to sniff that out, so you probably just want to leave that here.”
Are you fucking kidding me, I think. Drug sniffing dogs? Really? After months in lock down and terror they want to stop us from getting a little high at a funk show? That can’t be real.
But of course it can. In this new normal there is no limit to the absurdity we face. I take the twelve pack out of my backpack and put it in the car, leaving the backpack at the house.
Five minutes later all four of us are in the car, heading for the university at the edge of the city.
We’re only three blocks down from his house when I ask the question that’s been on my mind since I decided to do this.
“Hey, you mind if we roll down the windows?”
Nobody responds at first, so I repeat my question. This time Annie speaks up.
“But the AC is on.”
“Yeah, but I read somewhere that the most likely places for the virus to spread is in tight indoor spots with no ventilation.”
“But the AC is on,” she argues again.
“Yeah, but that’s just recirculated air, I think,” I tell her.
There’s a sigh from the new guy, JP, who sits next to me, and I think I hear one from Will too.
“We should all respect each other’s concerns during these times,” JP says in a way that I find vaguely condescending. But the windows go down. Even still, it becomes clear that there is a division of thought when it comes to the virus. Everyone in the station wagon believes in it, as far as I know, but the question is how much precaution should be taken. If no one looks or feels sick, and if we’ve all been social distancing for a good amount of time, should there really be such a need for worry? I don’t know. To tell you the truth part of me just wants to forget it all and live normally too. But god damn am I gonna feel stupid if I somehow end up catching this shit because I didn’t do something as simple as putting down the goddamn windows.
Anyway, there is a bit of awkwardness still lingering in the car and I decide to diffuse it the way I usually try to diffuse these kinds of situations, by busting balls.
“Is that John Mayer?” I crack, referring to the poppy music coming from the stereo. “Are we really listening to John Mayer? Mr. Your-Body-is-a-Wonderland Tool bag? Seriously?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will tells me. “That song came out like twenty years ago and John Mayer is a badass guitar player.”
What you should know about Will is that he is a professional drummer and knows more about music than I ever will, and almost every time we hang out I learn something new about the world of music. Last time we hung out I learned that the trombone is a highly overrated instrument, for the most part, and that only simpleminded tourists claim to enjoy it when they come to visit this city. This time, I’m learning that John Mayer is a highly respected guitar player. Who knew?
Fifteen minutes later we approach the UNO entrance from the lakeside. There is an impressive line of cars waiting to pass through security to get in, and I can practically see the excitement buzzing within each car. Dear god, the people inside their vehicles seem to be screaming, we are actually about to do something fun!
I can feel my own surge of anticipation coursing through me and I down the beer in my hand and reach for another.
“God damn, guys, we’re about to do this!” I grab Will and his girl by a shoulder and squeeze. Will laughs, Annie seems less enthused. I feel bad but it’s too late now. I’m in full Randy mode and need to crack as many jokes and be as whacky and wild as possible. It’s been months since I’ve been a part of something social like this, and the wiring inside me is begging me to take full advantage of the moment.
“We’re about to get turnt up!” I say this, not even knowing if I’m using this term ironically or not, I’m just so happy to be here.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel bad for the other three, trapped inside with me. I need to head butt someone and hug someone else. And I need to do both very badly. I thought hits me now, one that I’ve considered a great deal since all this madness began.
The extrovert was not meant for the pandemic world.
The line to get in moves at a zombie’s pace, with security staggering back and forth inspecting cars for something, but what? Bombs? Drugs? Covid?
“Hey look, they do have dogs!” JP exclaims. I squint my eyes and find he’s exactly right. Off in the distance, where the cars are actually entering campus, there is a dog on a leash being led by an officer. God dammit, I feel the joy inside me die a bit. It’s true. They’re really so concerned with people smoking joints that they actually have dogs to sniff them out? The whole thing makes me incredibly depressed.
But then as we continue our slow climb toward the promised land, we also notice a guard coming around with a mirror attached to the end of a long pole, which he is using to check under cars. That can’t possibly be used for finding drugs, we decide, that must be for bombs. We then have a discussion on whether the dogs themselves are there to detect bombs or drugs. Both possibilities depress me. Drugs for obvious reasons, bombs for not so obvious ones. I mean, I can’t fault them for looking for that stuff, I guess just the idea that some nutcase might be out there wanting to be so violent and cruel in these already troubling times makes me sad.
In any case, about fifteen minutes later we pull up to the people collecting tickets and Will hands them ours. In the distance I can just barely see the stage and the big screens above it, plus the new line of cars finding their own spots in the lot. There is now a great desire among us in the wagon to hurry and get the best position we can before all the good ones are taken. Annie wants one up close, personally I don’t really care as long as I can see the stage and hear the music. Just as long as I can live in a moment.
Of course, we have little choice in the location of our spot, as men and women in bright uniforms and masks direct us with pointed fingers to our ten feet of space. The car takes up more than half of that, but there is still some area in the front, side, and back for us to utilize. The closest car to us is two spaces away, so that’s comforting as well.
As far as location goes, it could be worse. We’ve been placed in the middle of the lot, lining up with the stage quite nicely. But we’re also pretty far back, second to the last row in fact. It’s hard to make out the stage to be sure, but I’m ok with that because the screens are big and visible. As long as I can hear the music, really hear it, everything will be fine.
“Hey I brought stuff to make Tom Collins,” JP tells us cheerfully as he ushers us to the trunk of the car. I don’t really know what’s in a Tom Collins but I know there’s alcohol in it and that sounds like a great start to me. But then JP tells me it has gin in it and I cringe a bit. I fucking hate gin. But beggars can’t be choosers and the sun’s heat is starting to beat down on me so I just smile happily and accept the tall drink he makes for me.
“So what do you do,” I ask him quickly, fearing that if I don’t he’ll ask me the question first and I’ll have to give my rambling explanation of being an out-of-work tour guide and a struggling writer, which I just don’t want to do right now. Of course, this logic is flawed as it only guarantees that once he’s done with my question he’ll ask me the same, but I never claimed to be a smart man.
Anyway, he tells me he works with underwater robots that various people/companies rent to explore the ocean floor. I ask him what kind of companies need that service and he gives me two examples. Those who want to find a shipwreck and those who want to look for a good place to drill for oil. I laugh here at this because I can’t help but assume that for every company that rents a robot to find a sunken ship, there must be at least a hundred or more looking for a spot to drill for that sweet sweet oil.
I don’t know how, but from here the conversation leans into our politics without it ever being addressed. I suppose you could call it the polite conversation for the new normal. Using innocent sounding questions to figure out how someone feels about the issues. Sort of the way a polar bear will lick around the opening of an igloo to see if an eskimo is inside (this is actually a thing I just made up now, but I hope you enjoyed it).
“So you live outside the city then,” I say about five minutes into our talk, “does everyone wear a mask there or are they just like fuck it?”
“No, everyone wears a mask for the most part, but some have a lot of issues about it. Especially about the mandate the governor just set. I don’t know if you heard the attorney general’s response to the governor but it was pretty interesting. A good point.”
“And what point was that?”
“That by setting the mandate, private companies that are now enforcing the mask rule are in fact letting the government tell them what to do, which is illegal.”
“But how are they letting the government tell them what to do if they are choosing to follow this rule themselves?” I ask him, keeping my eyes on my drink in hopes of avoiding in sign of aggression.
“Because the mandate states that people should wear masks when they go into stores.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the reason why the stores are enforcing it. They want to keep everyone safe.”
“But still, a government can’t tell private businesses how to operate.”
“..I really don’t feel like that’s what’s going on here.”
“…perhaps not.”
We both drink.
At some point Will joins the debate and, as typical of Will in these situations, he sort of sits on the fence so that he doesn’t offend either one of us. I don’t blame him for this though, he invited us here to have a good time and forget our troubles, why risk ruining that for some silly argument that will only become sillier and sillier with each new Tom Collins?
The music starts up now, as Galactic has hit the stage. The lead singer makes a quick joke about these crazy times we’re living in before starting off with the first song of the evening. I’m relieved to find that I dig the song. One thing I haven’t told you yet, despite the band’s enormous popularity in the city, I wasn’t really sure if I was familiar with Galatic or not. When I told Will this, he was rather incredulous.
“There’s no way you haven’t heard them, Randy,” he tells me, “they’re everywhere in this city.”
I assumed he was right and I was just being an oblivious space cadet, but it isn’t until now, rocking out to their first song that I know without a doubt he’s right. I know these guys, I know their music. For some reason this seems important to me. This entire city is made from music and yet my connection with their most famous bands is hazy at best.
And in any case, I was mostly worried when he told me it was a funk show. I now realize it was because I confused the term funk with jam. I love a good funk show, but I truly believe jam bands have absolutely zero value to offer. This may be due to an incident in high school when I was forced to endure four hours of The String Cheese Incident during a road trip. In any case, if I may give my caveman thoughts here, it would be this: funk good, jam bad.
My three friends are standing next to me grooving to the music and I know they will be in that same spot, more or less, the whole show. In a way, I envy them. My ADD doesn’t allow to stay in one spot that long, and the first song isn’t over before I’m circling our ten feet of allotted space, taking in the sights in all directions.
The Tom Collins have turned into triplets in my stomach and are helping me enjoy one of my favorite past times: people watching. And I soon realize that being able to people watch in an environment that forces each party to isolate has its advantages, because it’s like each group is their own museum exhibit.
Of course, the trick to people watching is to act like you’re doing anything but, because some folks find that odd and uncomfortable. And usually, I’m a master at the casual observation, focusing on people while pretending to be doing something else, but I must admit, in these strange times I find myself starving for observation, and between that and the basketball team of Tom Collins in me I may be more overt than attended. Nevertheless though, it’s still a great time.
In any case, I find that after months of not being able to parttake in this pasttime has made it all the more fascinating. Or perhaps it’s the crazy times themselves that make is so. As I watch each group sway and dance to the music, part of me just wants to go up to them and shake them and shout: “Aren’t you freaking out?! The world is mad! Mad I tell you! How can you ignore that?!’
But of course, I’m doing the same thing, and I know exactly why. Humans can only live in the shit for so long before they need a distraction. So here we are, going galactic in a university parking lot because what the hell else are we going to do?
I don’t know how it happens but, at some point, my people watching turns to people talking, as in I find myself talking with the group of people next to us. And I’m doing everything I can to make them laugh. I honestly don’t even know how I got to this point. I suspect one of them got too close to me, perhaps returning to the bathroom or something, coming within that sacred six feet of me, and once that happens, well, I just couldn’t help myself. No wait, I remember what it is now, there are these posters planted at every car spot that promises a free poster if you “sign in” or whatever with your smartphone. So this guy next to me tries to do that, but it isn’t working, and so I just jump in and started making fun of him for not knowing how to use his phone and he laughed and it was all over after that. Before I know it I have switched cars, going from Will’s station wagon to a I-shit-you-not Tesla. Oh yes, I’m talking to Tesla folks now. They’re from Texas and they’re here for the show and a good time. So I tell them a little about me and my friends and I fear I may be salivating from the mouth because I’m just so excited to be talking to new people, and I’m making them laugh and, occasionally, they’re make me laugh and all seems right in the world.
And then I turn back and look at my friends, who aren’t watching the show anymore, but staring over at me and cracking up. Instantly I get the joke. After all my talk between us about being safe, and me being more cautious than them, they are the ones that are social distancing while I have just broken the rules like a real jackass. And when I take this all on, I return to the thought I had back in the car hours ago:
The pandemic is no place for an extrovert.
The show ends soon after, with the sun still barely glowing at the horizon, and as we drive off the lot back to our respective houses to enjoy more isolation I take out my phone and look at my favorite shot of the evening. It was during the last twenty minutes, when I turned my back to the stage and found Will leaning against his car, mask on, enjoying the show while the setting sun and clouds turned the sky into a gorgeous painting. I don’t know quite why, but this picture gives me an odd sort of hope, like we absolutely will come back from this no question. And as we head west in Will’s station wagon back to the new normal, I let feeling warm me over, until I am at peace with everything.
Well, almost everything.
