Goose Pursuit: Ultimate Edition

          The bus out of Indianapolis was over two hours late in boarding; apparently the driver went the wrong way trying to get to the station. We passed into Kentucky while I listened to the guy behind me telling stories to his seatmate. In the best one, he tried to pick up a girl who was evidently a hooker, she hopped into his car and suggested they go behind the gas station, they negotiated a price, and when he drove back there, a squad of cops was waiting. He was then jailed and had to call his wife to bail him out, pleading unsuccessfully with a female officer to lie to his wife about why he was arrested. The same guy later went on a tangent about aristocracy and the 13 colonies, which goes to show that people can be surprising. The rest of the bus ride was a blur, except for a sad moment when a driver informed us that there had been a ten-car pileup with three deaths on the way down to Bonnaroo. Kentucky was hilly, Louisville was hideously muggy, we stopped in Nashville for a little while, and finally made it to the bus station in Manchester, situated next to a highway, a Waffle House and a whole lot of not much else. The original plan was to walk a mile to the Bonnaroo entrance, but there were no signs in evidence and the last thing we wanted was to carry all of our bags on a hunt for the site itself. So we each got chiseled out of ten bucks for a shuttle ride there from some hicks, separating from a girl we made friends with on the bus, and settled in. This was around eight or nine in the morning.
          Arriving on site, we came upon a line of tollbooths. We explained our lack of volunteer wristbands and our general situation. They directed us to the customer service trailer, where we repeated the motions. They told us to go to Centeroo (where most of the important, non-camping stuff is located) and hail a shuttle to the volunteer sign-in site, which was at the Coffee County High School, some five miles away from Bonnaroo. They were at least kind enough to let us dump our stuff behind the trailer, since we weren't going to lug it all over Creation until we found out where we were to make camp. We reached Centeroo and were barred from entering because we lacked wristbands. We asked to talk to those volunteers' supervisors, who listened to our situation, thought carefully and then told us they still couldn't help because we didn't have wristbands. "How did you get in without those in the first place?" Left and right, people were giving us a problem for lacking the wristbands, despite the fact that we were clearly trying to solve that problem and weren't crashing the party/making any attempt to hide. The supervisors radioed for instructions and sent us to an information booth, who were helpful enough to direct us to C'Roo HQ. Once we got to the HQ and they heard us out, our problem was juggled around for two hours. We waited and read our books in the interim, fingers crossed.
          Finally, the volunteer coordinators called us over. We could still be registered since our names were on the list, and we could take a shuttle to the school. We walked over to the shuttle, where the stereotypical sassy black woman stopped us because we didn't have volunteer wristbands, only temporary ones the coordinators gave us. "We're going to get those wristbands, that's why we need to get on this shuttle." "No, you need two wristbands, like this. [pointing to someone else, then sees a friend coming] Oh heyyy baby!" We shuffled back to HQ, defeated, where the head coordinator did an eye roll of epic stature upon hearing this latest story. Rather than calling the woman and ordering her to let us on, they took the easy way out and put it on us. We had to call for a taxi to the school and back, which was salt in the wound of the gouging we'd taken earlier. We ended up getting a ride in the personal vehicle of the guy who's taxied us in, blowing another $10 each. Adding insult to injury, he stopped and squeezed in three more girls, charging them only $5 each and commenting, "Ah'd ruther have some pretty girls in muh car than a coupl'a hardheads!"
         We arrived at the school, jumped in a line, and were told that the wait would be a couple of hours. A couple of hours we didn't have, since our first shift started in about an hour and a half. A few glum minutes later, that same person came back to verify why we were there. "Oh, you're volunteers? Go through that door to the ten minute long line, not this one." It felt like waiting in the DMV, but after a day of struggle and two of stress, we were certified C'Roo members! We could now use the shuttle bus, and we had one all to ourselves until the driver picked up a very nice man on the way back. This guy has been involved for twelve years, he's some kind of festival manager, and he offered us free beer if we came and saw him at his stand near one of the tents. He also asked if it was our first time there, then grinned and said, "You'll be back." We will see, old man. We will see. (Afterthought: disboarding the shuttle back at Bonnaroo and giving that sassy bitch the double stink eye was almost worth the trouble, but not quite.)
          A point I never got to cover until now -- Bonnaroo is the biddy capital of the world. As well as "middy" (man-biddy) capital of the world, if some are to be believed. Everyone dresses in a very open, hippy way that would draw stares out in the real world. It's a place where young people come to get fucked up, experience great music and not take life seriously for a while, so this is not unexpected. Anyway, it provided plenty of "left or right" fodder for Brian and me as we traveled around. Returning to our heroes: Brian and I had gone through hell and back to try and salvage our deposits, and signing in at HQ, putting our names down and putting on our volunteer gear was a pleasure I can hardly put words to. In a strange twist of fate, another volunteer was Jesse, a coworker from the Red Onion. What were the odds that another guy out of the 20 or so people I work with was a) at Bonnaroo, b) a volunteer, and c) there at that particular time?
          As it turns out, Support crew shifts are not necessarily a lot of work. We were given absolutely nothing to do for our six-hour shift, just waiting around HQ for someone to need our help. Brian and I played some Advance Wars 2, tricked Josh into thinking we needed his help, and played cards and chatted with some girls until they let us go an hour early. We trudged across Bonnaroo to the tollbooths again and obtained our gear, then began the walk back. It was apparent within ten minutes that this would not be viable. Our campsite was two miles away, give or take a half mile, and we just had too much weight to carry without any kind of cart. We hired one of many rambling golf cart taxis for $5 a seat to carry us over, and though it was more wasted money, it was one of the happiest wastes of my life. We would have taken three or four hours to move everything, in all likelihood. We set up camp in the only open spot that wasn't out in the boonies of the volunteer camping (already separate from everything else), immediately next to a loud refrigeration unit/trailer. Later on, I purchased a beautiful Postal Service poster. We missed Purity Ring, the first band we planned to see, since we decided to take our time setting up. After all, it was our first real break since leaving Saugerties. We did make it to one of the tents to catch a cool band called Alt-J, a sort of electronic rock group that left me interested. (Aside: There are two stages -- What Stage and Which Stage -- and three "tents" -- This Tent, That Tent, and The Other Tent -- which are huge, open metal structures.)
          Quote of the day:
"I ran into a sting operation... It was like a wasp nest, man. There was like ten cops back there!" - Mr. Right
"If I had to. If you were breaking my arm." - Brian, on a Nashville strumpet
"I feel like I rolled for Super Senses." - Brian, on getting into the festival
"Baby, I don't take orders from nobody!" - Shuttle bus nazi
"'No Diving.' Thanks for the tip." - me, on a ~15x5 foot pool
"I'd pay more. I'd pay $420." - random volunteer, on smoking a bowl with Paul McCartney
...
Me: "Fux fux fux widdit."
Brian: "Did you just say 'fuxponentially'?"

Alt-J, our first show at Bonnaroo.