Poor Choices, with your host, Balls Capone (Episode 4)

Today's Memory: Attempting to keep up with the Marines from Fairbanks.

It was 2006, Anderson, Alaska Blue Grass Festival. An ill-fated trip, lord, if I had known what was going to happen at that festival, I never would have gone. I was up there visiting so unlike the last year, I had very limited supplies and gear, I was also at the mercy of another person who was driving (always a poor choice). We got there late and camping was pretty full, we had to pull into a spot that was totally surrounded with other campers. It didn’t seem like an issue at the time, but later it would prove to be a terrible mistake. The weather was terrible, and like all bluegrass festivals ever; it was raining like crazy and pretty chilly. I hadn’t really thought anything through, I had just kind of gone on a whim, and I was very ill prepared. I had no tent, no sleeping equipment, kind of a crappy old army coat, limited food, hardly any beer, and couple packs of smokes which were going quick.

I was feeling kind of lousy anyway and I was having a hard time relating. There were so many people that my anxiety was off the charts and I was having a hard time finding anyone to jam with. It was getting later now and darkness had closed in, it was also much colder and still raining. So I headed back to camp, everyone was either gone or asleep, so I curled up in the back of my friends van and tried to get some rest, to no avail. The group next to us was blasting death metal at obnoxious volumes and drinking heavily from a keg. I was also freezing my ass off and they had a fire. Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em! So I went over there, it was a little scary at first. They were all Marines from Fairbanks and were very aggressive. One came right up to my face and yelled at me, “DO YOU HAVE AN ISSUE WITH THE UNITED STATES MARINES?” I told him quickly and with great confidence that I did not have an issue with them nor the United States Marine Corps. He them smiled, slapped me on the back, gave me a cup, and said “WELCOME BROTHER!” and we proceeded to listen to death metal and get wasted together. It was chugging contest after chugging contest, cup after cup of beer. I was smashed, I couldn’t keep up, they were like machines that could just go on and on.

Suddenly a horrible feeling came over me, oh lord, that intestinal distress feeling of an impending major brown throwing event. So I headed down to the outhouse, but just my luck, it was gone! Sometime during the night someone had taken the damn outhouse, and the next one was way down the road. So I started down the road with a fury, keeping my eye on the little blue dot down the road as it got bigger and bigger. The urge was now critical, I was clenching my buttocks with all my might, sweat running down my face as I reached for the door handle, and that’s when the unthinkable happened, the worst thing that can ever happen. I shit my pants.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever shit your pants, but it’s not pleasant, it’s a kick in the old ego like you’ve never experienced before. The uncomfortable feeling spreads like warm creamed corn being dumped down the back of your pants. In horror, I bolted into the outhouse to assess the damage. It was bad, very bad; no quarter was given that night. To add to the joy the toilet seat had been ripped out of the outhouse and there was only a gross grimy hole to sit over and just as I was finishing getting the rest out I noticed another major issue. No TP, none, not a scrap to be found anywhere except for one place. It was a little metal box on the wall that contained used tampons and other female things of the sort. I had no choice, I reached in and trying to breathe through my mouth only, pulled out wad after wad unwrapping the grossest of the gross, discarding the bloody innards, and using that which I could find to clean up this terrible catastrophe along with the rest of my unsoiled boxers. A smell, like rotting meat filled the air and it seemed the horrible event would never end.

It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fun, but it did the job. It was becoming light when I finally exited the filthy box of horrors and I had somehow become mostly sober from the horrible ordeal. So I went back to the van and tried to get a couple hours sleep in the cold cold morning. After that I woke up tremendously ill, I had a fever, and was getting the start of what would be a horrible bout of pneumonia. So I ended up having to hitch a ride back to the park and ended up drinking pee out of a Nalgene that I thought contained water. So I nearly froze to death, got no sleep, shit my pants, got sick as hell, and then drank piss.

Worst Bluegrass festival experience ever.