The Concert

“Brett’s scared of lightning.” my wife Lauren tells our group, while I look like I want to curl up into a fetal position.

In between lightning flashes, all I can think about is the made-up conversation these people are having in their heads. So let me get this straight… your husband doesn’t drink, he doesn’t do any fun recreational drugs, he no longer eats, and now with this lightning, he’s a complete wimp?

Well, he is a good designated driver when he’s not taking Xanax. And he has a bizarre sense of humor which you will really appreciate when you’re under the influence.

“Lauren should really just commit you to a nursing home already,” my friend says.

“Sounds good to me,” I reply. “I like those little ice creams they give you on your tray.”

5 hours earlier

We’re headed to a concert for our friend Alan’s birthday. It’s four guys in one car. The wives are following us in a separate car.

We all live in the same town. Our kids are similar ages. We’re all about the same age – no one has an enlarged prostate yet – but we do have to stop to use the bathroom every 45 minutes.

Jones Beach parking lot – tailgate

It’s amazing to watch parents of young kids let their hair down. It’s as if everyone just got out of maximum security prison.

The only one not letting their hair down is me. I have a weird relationship with weed and alcohol. I don’t do either and I feel like an outsider because of it. Unlike most who don’t do it because of moral or health reasons, though, I abstain only because I’m a control freak and take prescription drugs that I don’t want to mix with them. In fact, I was a complete degenerate in college and have a theory (along with 300 other theories) that some of my mental health issues might be as a result of a few college nights that went way too far. And yet I miss the comaraderie of it.

I pull out my grilled vegetable bowl that Lauren picked up before we left and I open it up. Wow hummus! Living dangerously tonight. I watch our friends eat sub-heros and Doritos and lament giving that up as well.

Earlier this year, I decided to lose a bunch of weight. I had made up for the lack of alcohol and drugs with food and was completely out of control. I have an addictive personality and I was addicted to food. Now I’m addicted to avoiding food. As long as I can obsess about something, I’m good.

Lauren’s friend opens a vegetable platter, which I’m excited about since I can eat celery until I pass out.

“It smells funny,” Lauren says.

I look at it. It’s hard to tell because broccoli always smells like ass, but this platter is bad. You can tell by how slimy the carrots are, which is the main event in any vegetable platter.

One of Lauren’s friends starts talking to me, and for the first thirty seconds I’m paying attention. But like usual, I’m immediately looking for a way out of this conversation.1Can’t there just be a clap and we move on?

On the way, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts. I got an Iced Decaf (with almond milk because I’m a rebel). Coffee makes me need to pee even more often than normal.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, knowing I have my way out of the conversation.

I take a walk to find a spot.2I’m never going into a port-a-potty. I would rather be captured by ISIS.

I find some bushes far away from everyone, which gives me the added bonus of getting my steps in. I notice some berries growing. I’ve never seen a berry in the wild that I didn’t think was poisonous. But I’m so hungry, I’m debating about taking a chance. It would be a really interesting death if I ate a poisonous berry. I feel like it would get a lot of media attention and then my book would take off.

To my left, I notice in the distance kids walking towards me. I try to speed the pee up, but I have stage fright. I decide to abandon the attempt.

I can’t find the group. I see a giant Winnebago. They are barbequing outside. Wow, barbequed corn looks good. I love those corn holders everyone is using, though I’m surprised we haven’t seen more homicides with them at BBQs.

I am lost, but I’m too stubborn to call anyone. My phone rings. It’s Lauren. She guides me back safely.3Lauren is under her maiden name in my phone. Because we’ve only been married for 12 years.

8:30

Thousands wait to enter the concert. I feel like sheep in these situations. 

And that’s when we see the first lightning flash.

I try to ignore it. I don’t have a lot of irrational fears. I have enough actual fears of, you know, everyday life, that the irrational ones don’t really cross my mind. But lightning is one of the few.

We make it through security rather quickly which isn’t comforting. I’m pretty sure they have ruled out that no one has a scud missile on them, but that’s about it. We walk past two men wearing camouflage holding machine guns, which has the complete opposite effect on my feeling of safety than it’s supposed to.

Concert

The last time I was at Jones Beach was also to see Dave Matthews in the late 90s. I was with my college girlfriend. We fooled around during the show. We went back to the car after and fooled around some more.

I look to my right and see Lauren and smile. I grab her butt and she rolls her eyes.

Lauren’s really into the show. She’s dancing. I try to get into it, but I wasn’t born with the gene that allows me to feel comfortable at concerts. Do I just stand here?

I start with my arms folded, just observing. But I think people are looking at me and wondering why I’m not moving at all. So I begin to tap my foot and nod my head forward like I’m a pigeon. I look down the line at our friends. Everyone seems to be more comfortable than me. I go to my big move that I only pull out in times of emergency. I begin to tap my leg with my hands like I’m playing a drum.

Dave Matthews is into the third song of his set. I recognize it and I’m starting to get goosebumps.  He’s no JoJo Siwa, but I love Dave Matthews. It’s been 20 years, but music is music, and it still moves me the same way.

Dave Matthews: Excuse me everyone. Severe weather is moving into the area and we’re going to have to leave the stage for a bit.

Oh thank God. Now I don’t have to tap my leg anymore.

We head out to the main area and look for cover. The wind is picking up. I lead the way, as I’m the leader* (*the most afraid). We find shelter, but it’s clear the weather is not going to improve, and decide to head to the car to leave.

It feels kind of appropriate that the concert was cut short. That is the story of my life now. Nothing is simple. Nothing goes smoothly the way it did as a kid.

Ride home

I’m the designated driver.

We all chat about the night which went to shit. The conversation quickly devolves into inappropriate guy talk (One life preserver/Leaving our kids in traffic for large sums of money, etc.), which I am world class at and can really show my worth.

“Pull over,” my friend says.

I get off at the next exit and pull over in a parking lot. The four of us then help water the plants. I realize we’re outside a nursing home. This scene will definitely be replayed in my trial in purgatory.

We get back in the car.

“Where you going, Brett? Lauren asked us to drop you off,” my friend says.

“Funny. Lucky I’m the only driver,” I reply.

“Yes, you’re Gruber.”

 “What’s Gruber?” I ask.

“It’s Uber with the beginning of your last name in front of it. Can’t beat the price.”

I look down at the sandwich in front of Alan.

“You want a bite?” Alan asks.

It’s pouring. It’s going to be a long ride home. The best time for me to throw my diet out is when I’m driving since I can rationalize that I need food to stay awake. Or when I’m trying to mask the pain of being used for my sobriety.

“Fuck it.” I snatch the sandwich from Alan’s hand and take a bite as I fall off a wagon of my own creation.

—–

Coming next week: The Ducks

Holiday season. You need to buy gifts. I’d offer a free ride with Gruber, but there are gummy bears and pretzels inside the crevices of the seats. If you choose to go another direction, my book is an awesome gift. Here’s the link: