I picked up a vial of mystery pills standing in line outside of the Electric Daisy Carnival. It was a rave! Fifty thousand of Los Angeles’ most annoyingly young, all in one spot and dressed like the X-Men.
Woody, Silly Question and I had been standing in line to get into the actual party for about two hours, intending — along with Fernando (yeah, who are these fucking people anyway? Don’t worry; it’s not that important, and none of us dressed up) — to meet Solomon and Manuel at the V.I.P section, then run away before a bouncer could kick our asses.
While we were in line, Fernando disappeared.
Woody, you’ve got his number. Call him. Good thinking, no?
It won’t work. I’ve got his phone.
Why in the world would you have his phone?
He asked me to hold it.
Why in the world would anybody even ask somebody else to hold his phone?
Why, indeed. He produced it from his pocket: an iPhone. It was silver and liquidey. It looked like a jewel.
You should let me hold it. I’ve got better pockets.
I was wearing my corduroy hipster jacket. It makes me look dashing and protects me from the Hulk. Plus it’s got a bunch of pockets.
So there we were, still in line, not even technically at the party yet and already we’ve lost someone. The line hadn’t moved in thirty minutes. Around us, ravers were getting out of line and rushing somewhere else. That’s when I saw the bottle of mystery pills and, anticipating a pocket check at the gate, stuffed them into my sock.
Silly Question made as if to swat the bottle out of my hand, gave me her hand-wringing screed about ingesting foreign objects, and assured me that I wouldn’t have to resort to popping mystery pills. She had some X and intended to share.
Great! So when can I have it?
Just wait.
Wait for what?
I waited.
Silly Question’s shoulder was getting tired. "Hold this," she said to Woody, handing off her spinach-green satchel.
Rumour held it that off to the left, another gate was actually open and that the line was actually moving while ours wasn’t.
Hey, I’m gonna just go check out the other line; see if it exists, divine its true purpose. Wait here. I’ll be back.
I found the gents’ then checked out the other gate. It did exist, it was moving, and it brings a message of peace and compassion. When I went back to the old line, Woody was gone.
He went to look for you.
Why? I took a leak and was gone for like three minutes.
He also took my bag.
"…"
It had my wallet and stuff in it.
Naturally. Why would you even have handed it off to him in the first place?
She explained.
Yeah, your back hurts or whatever, but so what? You can’t just switch shoulders?
After twenty minutes he still hadn’t shown up, so fuck it, we went to the mythopoetic alternate gate, where we got in after five minutes (I survived the pat-down with my mystery maybe-poison pills). We wandered around for a while, looking to and fro, hoping for Woody to materialize. An hour later he texted: I’m at the front gate.
Can we, umm, take the stuff now?
I wanna wait til later. Meet up with everyone and then do it all together.
Life is short. Why wait?
We met up with Solomon and Manuel, but still no sign of Fernando. He had gone missing hours ago, far back in line, so we circled the front area hoping he was just now reaching the entrance and he’d just happen to notice the rest of us as he finally trudged in, dejected and alone. That plan sucked and didn’t work. Sol had a new one.
From now on we gotta stick together.
Be realistic. There’s six of us. Well, five of us. And fifty thousand people swarming around like desert sands. At some point we will get separated. We need a backup plan. A meeting place.
Right here. Front gate.
Front gate?
Front gate.
Front gate it is.
The vodka I had been sipping out of a Gatorade bottle while we were in line was starting to wear off.
Losing buzz, gimme drugs!
Not yet.
It’s already ten. What are we waiting for?
We decided to go into the Coliseum and do the thing. After we popped the pills Solomon wanted to head back to the VIP lounge and I wanted to hit the football field, which was packed wall-to-wall with naked gyrating hipsters. We agreed to split up and meet back in the cheap seats, and if we didn’t see each other there, we’d fall back to the Front Gate Backup Plan.
Silly Question and I maneuvered our way down into the field, shoving our way as close to the stage as we could. There was also a woman dressed like the Amazing Spider-Stripper threading her way up, down, and all over a big steel cage in the middle of the field. At midnight, we headed back to the cheap seats, as planned, and seeing nobody there, made for the front gate. At some point along the way, Silly Question made a left while I went straight, or vice versa, and we lost each other. FRONT GATE: that was the plan, right? I made it there and waited. Silly Question didn’t show. While I was chain smoking, Solomon and Manuel showed up, grinning and sweating like — well, we don’t make that kind of simile on this blog, but you get the idea.
Where’s Silly Question?
We got lost. I’m waiting for her to show.
The pills work?
No.
That sucks. I am feelin pretty good right now.
Then they left: we’re going to the bathroom, we’ll be right back.
Later on, talking about this with the Poetess, she observed that a rave probably wouldn’t be fun if you weren’t high. She’s right. I was getting pissed. If we’d hit the X earlier, I would have known before one in the morning that the shit wouldn’t work. Then I could have made contingency plans. I could have made vodka plans. In Russia, vodka plan YOU!
Silly Question finally texted me; she was standing out on a hill beside the Coliseum, under a floodlight. Christ, what ever happened to "THE FRONT GATE!" When I found her I let her have it. FRONT GATE FRONT GATE FRONT GATE I said. We went back to the FRONT GATE to wait for Solomon.
A half hour later it was pretty clear he wasn’t gonna show. And I was STILL NOT HIGH. Fuck it, I said. We headed back into the Coliseum to try and dance with the raging hordes. What was the point of coming up with a plan nobody would follow?
We stood near the top of the stadium, facing down the same midnight-black soup of naked hipsters we had been wading through hours ago, peppered gently with their glowey, spinney accessories.
Sorry I yelled at you about the front gate. It’s just that we made a plan. A simple plan. If you’re lost, do this. I thought you, of all people, would just follow it. There are fifty thousand people up in here. Of course we’d get separated! My own effing parents could be down there having wild koala sex and I’d never even know it. That’s why we made the plan. Front gate.
She nodded.
Look at them now! Fifty thousand skanks, with their fishnets and their glowsticks. Elbowing their way through spikey-haired tweakers. Tripping over lovers and empty water bottles. Making out with each other. Look at them now; here and there one lights something up and makes it spin. They have all come together, not knowing how beautiful they look from up here. But you and I don’t matter to them one bit.
Dude, I think your pill is kicking in.
Hm. I guess it must be. Yours isn’t having any effect?
Manuel is holding mine.
Jeez, how long ago did we go through this? You’re gonna thrash this high that I only became aware of mere seconds ago. Happiness is fleeting, like glitter in the moonlight. I know, right? That’s the drugs talking. Mostly.
The night was finally picking up. And yes, I still have these:
