Dispatch From the Front

June 15
It’s 6:22. Or, hell, 5:22. Or 7:22. Hell if I know.

There was no appreciable crowding as I reached the infamous exits 111 and 112. I couldn’t find 112, actually, and I ended up going down to 114 and turning around. The signage was only iffy, and without a mob to follow, I feared getting lost.

(Let me fast-forward a second: I’m sitting in my festival chair in my tent. I feel like a war correspondent. I’m drinking Frisco Ginger Joy. Mmmmm.)

I found my way to some gates, of a sort, where I was directed to a spot behind two other cars. Two young men in yellow “Security” (or was it “Safety”?) shirts came over to either of my front windows. They asked me if I had any glass, weapons, drug paraphernalia, or “dead bodies—if you do, it doesn’t matter, because this is Bonnaroo, but if you tell me you don’t and I find some, I’ll be pissed, OK?” They made me get out of the car and did a cursory look-around, including looking in my cooler briefly. They said I was fine. They called me “ma’am.”

Unfortunately, I was stuck behind these two other cars, one of which was being searched pretty thoroughly. Finally, another guy waved me over to his gate, but he didn’t know I’d already been searched, so I had to find the guys who searched me so he’d be satisfied. It might have been quicker for him to search me again.

I meandered around, following people with flags, etc. I got my wristband (cherry red) and my map and my trash bags. Then I drove and drove past dreadlocks and frat shirts and wandering confused people and a “Maryland” sweatshirt and I don’t know what all.

They crammed us in by what looks like a marsh. Putting up the tents was insane. It was pretty dark. I brought two head lamps; I couldn’t find the one I’ve always used, and when I finally found the scissors to open the new one, I found it didn’t have batteries. I didn’t want to go digging around for AAAs, so I pretty much ripped open the box containing my lantern and fumbled around until it came on.

It’s a wonder no one lost an eye, the way the shock-cord poles were waving. It’s a wonder I had room for my tent at all; it’s right up against the neighbor’s on one side.

So my plans are rapidly diminishing. No room for my shade tent (no energy, either). Little space for stuff like camp stoves. I just want to sleep here and go away otherwise. I have to figure out how to pack properly for Centeroo; I reckon I’ll be hauling the damn laptop with me.

And STILL no wifi. Bugger.

I’m gonna rest here a couple minutes, drinking my beer. Then I need a portaloo, already. Then I’m gonna try and pack up for Centeroo. I don’t know where I am, but I heard someone else say they think we’re in Camp John Bender, which is just about the northernmost camp. Centeroo is due south. It could be worse, but it could be a hell of a lot better.

I admit: I’m feeling a little claustrophobic and a whole lot damp. People are smoking around me. (Tobacco. Ugh.)

Man, this chair is comfy. I remember now that when I stay awake too long, I don’t necessarily get sleepy, or tired in the way I expect, but I get really stupid and clumsy. The tent was a real pain. I didn’t want to ask for help, but at one point one of the neighbor guys grabbed a pole and pushed it into place, which was a big help.

I do like my tent.

OK, off to do some research.