Toby

Um, okay, so I promised to write about my Toby Keith concert experience, because it was funny (even if everything was mostly to be expected).  I maintain that my reactions of "Seriously, people?  Seriously?" were all completely warranted.


So I wake up at like 6:30 or so from an epic nap after work, because I'd only slept for like three hours the night before, and I'm still on the cranky side of Lea.  I still have to get a shower, get dressed, and eat something, though, and the concert starts at 7.  


I do all of the above, and then realize five minutes down the road that I've left my ticket pinned to my cork board.  Turn around, retrieve ticket.  


125 South was a quiet and delightful drive, until I had to fork over $4.50 for the toll.  Why?  Why does it need to cost me $5 to drive on this road?  Oh right, because the entire state of California is not only about to break off into the Pacific, we're going to revert to the barter system while it happens because we're broke.  


Get to the amphitheatre while telling Shannon that it's, like, 6 miles from the international border or something, and why the heck is there an Air Force C-130 parked by the infinitesimal hangar at Brown Field?  Who knew.


Anyway, arrive thankful that I'm an hour late for the show, because there's very little traffic trying to park in the general parking lot.  On the other hand, it means that the tailgaters now have something like a five hour head start on getting stupid before I show up looking for a space. 


I turn into the back row of the dirt lot, and immediately regret not doing a three point turn right back into the row I came out of, because there are like 30 people in the aisle, partying it up.  So, okay, now all of our objectives are exactly the same:  get the obnoxious pickup truck with the sober chick driver out of the way of the party.  I just want to park, and they want to continue being dumb.  Our goals are one and the same, people!  Can't we all just get along?


Nope.


So this couple are like, joined at the hip, and preparing for a huge makeout session right in the middle of the lot.  Dude looks up at me knowingly, and then goes in for the kill.  RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY FRONT BUMPER.  So of course, I honk my horn.  But I don't politely honk my horn, as if to say, "I know I'm inconveniencing you, and I'm so, so sorry, but could you pretty please move out of the way?"  No, I push on my steering wheel with a constant pressure, and do not stop pushing until they flip me off and clear out of the aisle where I am supposed to be able to drive.


Okay, cool.


Nope.


Some other dude, because I have clearly wronged his friends, decides to exact his revenge by standing in front of my truck.  So I tell him to move.  He tells me to honk my horn.  I tell him to move.  He levels his oh-so-intimidating gaze at me through my windshield.  I inch forward, and tell him to move.  He backs up a little, I guess because he's not wasted enough to think that a trip to the hospital would be hilarious.  


Then I look out my window, and another dude, in solidarity with making-out-couple and standing-in-front-of-my-truck-guy, decides to moon me.  


SERIOUSLY?  WE ALL WANT THE SAME THING!  I want to get out of your way so I can park my truck, and you all want me to get out of the way so you can continue your drinking unimpeded by obnoxious sober people like me.  What the hell?!?  Just get out of the freaking road!


So finally, some girl with some sense, seeing as how I'm still slowly rolling forward into this guy, pulls the idiot in front of my truck out of the way, and I (with a final admiring glance at mooning guy's--well--moon) pull away and find a spot.  


Grab my lovely blue straw Puerto Vallarta cowgirl hat, my purse, and my ticket, and proceed to the amphitheatre lawn in search of James and Tracy and Dave, who finally find me; set my purse under the lawn chair so that it's not completely obvious prey, enjoy Trace Adkins and Toby.


Halfway through Toby's set, this guy who had been standing not too far from us sidles up next to me, which freaks me out momentarily as he is quite large, and the boys have all gone to get drinks. He tells me that I should check my things, because the girl curled up next to us, whom I had thought to be asleep, has just been rifling through my purse and has thrown it back under the lawn chair.  So much for my surveillance.  I had been periodically making sure it was still there...   : /


I thank him, and check my purse.  My wallet, camera, and iPod are all missing.  So I crouch down next to sleeping-bag-girl and tell her that my purse is strangely empty, and could I please have my things back?


To which she answers, while trying to hide the things she took under the rest of the stuff in her bag, "I don't have anything, I didn't take anything."


To which I say, "I just saw my wallet in there."


So naturally I check her bag, and immediately fish out my wallet.  I show it to her and say, "So you see this wallet, this one with my ID in it?  Turns out it's mine.  Can I check your bag?"


"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't take anything, I don't have anything, you can look."


So I find my camera and my music and I step back over to our blankets, put my purse under a blanket in the chair, and tell James, who is furious.  This is the best part, because furious James trips me out.  


He goes and talks to her, and all she can say is still, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't take anything."


Okay, chicky, okay.  It teleported itself, I forget it has magical powers sometimes.


Seriously, people?  Seriously?


I leave with no further trauma.


But...  Seriously?