Sneaking into the Pit

One of my biggest claims to fame used to be this: my ability to weave through packed, wild concert crowds and sneak into the Pit, regardless of where my tickets (or lack of tickets) were. And back in the grunge era, crowds were more like Animal Kingdom, but I was a master at moving beyond the lesser beasts, mainly because I went to so many shows, but also because I was obsessed with ending up in the front row. Always.

First of all, the key was to attend all of the concerts alone. When you're alone, it's easier to be mobile.

Second: attire. I always wore boots to avoid slipping and to protect my toes when I got stepped on. No purse...only small items that fit snugly in the deep (key factor) pockets of my jeans. A belt -- when you get sweaty, your jeans loosen, and they can even slide off in a mosh Pit. Hair -- well, down, to hide my face, although I did get some hair pulled out, so then I started to braid it. No jewelry, ever. That's just dumb. I can't tell you how many times I saw earrings, nose rings, and eyebrow hoops get yanked out.

And since I'm small and short, that made the snake-like moves easier. Also, I learned that the best way to move was not to wait and be polite, but rather, to wait for the lights to strobe or go down, and then move fast, like a bullet, through arms, shoulders, legs, pierced heads, whatever. Go, go, go.

Drunk people were either the easiest or the hardest to get past. The semi-drunk people were often testy and sometimes downright hostile. I'd throw a big smile, act like I was waving at a friend further ahead, then plow on through. Fast. The very drunk people were easy to pass...I'd just move on, and if they became angry, they usually fell or forgot about it.

If the crowd was really rough, I'd wait until the opening band quit and right at this moment, some people would always leave to go to the bathroom, which created a break in the path. A calm in the ocean, nice.

If the security was watching me, again, the key was to move when the lights were low, and to move fast. If security was catching up to me, I'd dart right or left, which confused them.

If all else failed, I crowd-surfed my way to the front.

I'm surprised I'm alive, but I have to say, I was good at it. If they gave awards for crowd manipulation, I might just get the biggun.

So I'm thinking, now that I've told you my secrets, where does this serve me now? Comes in handy on the highway. And at Kroger's. And at the BMV. And it still comes in handy at shows, from time to time, although I'm picky these days; I go to very few. I'm not as obsessed as I used to be, but I'll always remember this: if all else fails, let the crowd carry me to the front. Sometimes, it's all right to give in to the madness.

Now that you know my secrets, maybe I'll see you there.

C.A. MacConnell

Photo: Pinwheel

 

C.A. MacConnell

Full Length Mirror

She's on her personal, makeshift cat
walk -- it's her body
against
the hang-it-on-the-door bedroom mirror,
and if she tilts it,
she...is...
better,
and the carpet is the wonder of ugly...fat...
beige,
flat in places,
bulging in others,
and she isn't wiry or unique,
and the belly...just...plain
sucks,
but still worse are the thighs --
wait --
yes;
she could tear her fucking face off
and live
forever

C.A. MacConnell

Snapshot, Just So

Sharply,
he is dressed
in eggshell,
with a touch
of borrowed
baby blue,
platinum,
and diamonds,
with serious,
slicked-back
hair. Not one
flyaway there.
At first, severe,
he stands
between
two women --
one sick,
one well --
worried
about the gel.
Later, alone,
at the circular
hotel, he leans
back against
the antique
headboard
and smiles
sideways.

C.A. MacConnell