Back from the (walking) dead
Last weekend The Texan and I had quite a little adventure at our first arena rock show here in SA. It was Godsmack with Rob Zombie at the Verizon Wireless Amphitheater way on the north side of town. When we got there, The Texan pleaded with me not to bring my purse, saying that here it's just not done (for safety reasons). I resisted at first - I feel nekkid without some sort of purse - but in the end, figured he knew what he was talking about and stuffed it in the trunk. Sure enough, the whole time we were there, I saw maybe four other women with purses.
Which is fine, but while I remembered to bring what's truly important (lipstick and money), I forgot to take out my ID. You know how some venues make noises about checking for ID but really don't? Verizon Amphitheater isn't one of those. NO ONE would sell me beer. I even tried pleading with them, telling them that I'm well into my 30s, but to no avail. (One mortifying moment: The Texan got us beers later in the evening, and randomly picked one of the five people who wouldn't sell me alcohol. The guy smirked, "So you got someone to buy you beer, did you?" I AM WELL BEYOND 21, JACKHOLE. Jesus.)
So there was a breeze, the curly fries were a-plenty, and we were drinking beers out of plastic guitars in the grass seating area. All was well, even after we got bumped out of the "family" section (no booze, no cigarettes). Come on, if you bring young-uns to a Rob Zombie concert, you kind of get what you deserve, don't you?
So good time...until it the show was over. The Texan couldn't find his keys. And, since we'd been in the grassy area, we'd migrated all over the damn amphitheater. We spent a good half hour retracing our steps and looking for his keys. Nada. We filled out forms at the front desk and resigned ourselves to waiting for "Max," their on-site locksmith. We waited...and waited....and waited.
While waiting some more, we saw these two 20-ish guys walk across the parking lot, pushing luggage. We idly wondered who would bring suitcases to a rock concert, but didn't think anything really of it. Then they came up to us and asked us a wonderful question: "Do you guys know anyone who lost keys?"
(insert heavenly chorus of angels singing)
Sure enough, they'd been in the grass section and had found The Texan's keys. We were so grateful not to have to deal with the locksmith that we started thrusting fist-fulls of cash at them. One of them said, "No money, but would you mind giving us a ride?" Turned out they were working their way back to a small town south of SA and didn't have transport. We figured, what the hell, and drove them home. Normally I don't pick up hitchhikers but special circumstances and all that. Plus they turned out to be really nice kids.
When we dropped them off at their designated spot, we found out it was a bar, so we figured - the night's been weird already, why not add to it? And went in for a drink. That, my friends, was a shit-kicking bar that could hold its own with the best of them. The Texan went to use the bathroom, came back rather pale, and warned me, "Do NOT go in there." But everyone in there was extremely nice and even though they didn't have bourbon - how can I cry in my drink, a la a true country gal, if I don't have bourbon? - I enjoyed myself.
Moral of the story? Rob Zombie's not that great live. But Godsmack has some talented musicians. And hope that your keys are picked up by good Samaritans.