You Ain't Going Nowhere
"I don't care how many letters they sent/morning came and morning went/pick up your money/pack up your tent/You ain't going nowhere" – Bob Dylan
Quite a show at Furthur (aka the surviving (barely) members of the Grateful Dead) last Thursday and the concert wasn't bad either. After catching a few waves up in North Hampton I headed down Route 101 to Manchester. I arrived about an hour before showtime. Being opening night of Fall Tour with all of the Deadheads well rested (and detoxed) the party was in full swing. In response to Drown the Grateful Dead ticket folks have been kind enough to accommodate my every ticket request.
I took a quick glance at my ticket and headed to the tenth row on the floor. The band started at about 7:45 catching some by surprise. About midway through the first tune, "Playing In The Band" an older couple (mid-sixties) sat next to me. Most of the help at concert venues these days are retired folk posing as ushers. They were not about to take on the stoned, twirling Deadheads and the floor section was quickly in chaos. About three songs in a young man came to the row. He informed the couple that the woman was in his seat. A look of fright came over her as there was at this point literally nowhere to go. The man said, "Not my problem doll, you gotta go." The couple moved past me and found a spot further down the row. The man stuck out his hand to me and introduced himself, "I'm Steve." He had no remorse about booting the older couple. "Hey, its a Dead show, I got a floor seat and its every man for himself." Since he was about 6'5 and clearly under the influence of several substances I shook his hand and agreed wholeheartedly (and technically he was right).
About five songs in another young man came down. He looked at me and said, "Dude you're in my seat." I confidently pulled my ticket from my pocket. Steve took it upon himself to mediate the dispute. He looked at the two tickets and said to me, "Dude, right seat but you are in row 14." I didn't have my glasses and in my haste had misread my ticket. At this point the aisle was jammed with dancing bodies. I cowardly said, "Steve, where am I going to go?" He facetiously said, "Yeah, row 10, row 14 I can see how you made that mistake." He then said, "Not my problem dude, you gotta go, you're ruining my show." With Steve's assistance I was pushed into the jam packed aisle to fend for myself.
I had no chance of getting back to row 14. Then a surprising thing happened. The bodies in the aisle made room for me as if welcoming my presence. I began grooving to the music and people smiled at me. (Pretty sure it was my new top hat, although I deduced after about three songs the cute girl in front of me was actually smiling at her boyfriend who was behind me.) At some point I looked down to my left and a dwarf, gnome or little person (not sure of the politically correct term these days) was holding a joint above her head offering me a toke. Being clean I respectfully declined. The Deadheads around me laughed and twirled on. I eventually became accustomed to the smell of patchouli, stale whiskey, body odor and weed. For the rest of the first set my new found aisle friends and I had a hell of a time.
After the first set I was able to get to my seat in the fourteenth row where exhausted I enjoyed the second set in relative peace. I'm headed to NYC to do it all again at MSG this Thursday. I'm not sure the New York Deadheads in the aisle will be as accommodating. I plan to have one of those seventy year old ushers escort me to my correct seat before they head for cover.
KOKO
