Phish – Festival 8
10/30/2009 -11/01/2009 – Empire Polo Fields: Indio, CA
Words by Justin
It was a week ago to the moment that I was at the beautiful Casino Morongo in Cabazon, CA when I saw a tweet that more or less said the following:
Got raped by security going into @phishfest8. Thought I could hide a bottle of beer in my anus, but boy was I wrong. #F8
I can’t lie; this brought a Secret Smile to my face. You see, I hate authority, especially minimum wage pigs that enjoy getting off by busting hard working folks who shell out $200 a pop (plus $15 for a camping pass) to have a good time. If Festival 8 was part playground, well you could damn well bet that I would have fun playing with Pigs – Three Different Kinds.
Pig #1 – CSC security:
When dealing with event security, it is important to remember one thing. YOU OWN THEM. They work for you, and you don’t owe them a damn thing. I had no fear entering the search area at Festival 8, and I have to believe this made our search easy. It is important to find common ground with the pig raping you, and thankfully mine came in the form of a tattoo. With a big LA on his right hand, I knew I was golden before the light skinned Latino asked if I had any illegal drugs. I informed him that he was searching the car of a San Francisco Giants fan (I have the license plate frame to prove it) and that I would not tolerate any form of discrimination from him, especially after his team beat my team all year long. A smile and some trash talk quickly came from the guards face, and we were underway. He informed us that he was “tired of taking people’s shit” and asked if I had any bottles. Lying, I showed him my cooler and all the beer cans up top. He informed us that he had to at least act as if he was looking around, and as we talked sports, he pretended to search us down. Nothing confiscated, and let’s give credit where credit is due – this guy was not that bad.
We had others in our camp whose search was simple as long as they left a $20 bill on the dash. Others were not so lucky, as they had various items confiscated on site. I will say this; there are two types of CSC guards. Some are very nice people, such as the one who was guarding our gate Halloween night. He fell asleep standing up, but managed a laugh when I asked if the local police got first crack at the 8 shaped donuts the following morning. Then there are the ones who go and bust kids for selling posters or drinking beer from a bottle, because well they can. It’s rather disgusting to think that one can pay good money to camp in a horse pasture, only to have their campsite looted by paid staff, but it is what it is. With bottles being a big no no over the course of the weekend, we made sure to chant BOTTLE BOTTLE BOTTLE whenever one would pass. I also made sure to offer them lots of Halloween, and when they refused, I started a line of questioning that led to me calling them no good commie bastards and walked away. This of course is only after I get them to admit that they are allowed to take candy from strangers, and simply don’t want any verses some form of oppresive cororate policy.
Pig #2 – Jarheads
First off, allow me to say that I have nothing but respect for our armed forces. While I appreciate these fine individuals, I don’t have an ounce of respect for whoever decided it was a good idea to have groups of plain clothed Marines walk around the venue looking for drugs. Even at my sloppiest, I was not dumb enough to fall into that trap (what do you think I am, a wook). Let’s look at a conversation between myself and a marine while I was in line for a post show crap at the Hunky Dory porta-potties:
Jarhead: Hey dude – do you know where I can get some Acid?
Concert Confessions: Ummmmm, my guess would be the Phish show in town
JH: Well yeah, but like do you know where I can get drugs here.
CC: Like, here here?
JH: Yeah, like here here.
At this point in time, the Jarhead is starting to get annoyed knowing I am not dumb enough to offer drugs I don’t even have to a clean shaven white boy with huge muscles and no personality.
CC: Hmmmm, you may want to try the Electric Ladyland campsite.
JH: Do you know anyone there with acid?
I clearly stop to think, finger on my lip eyes rolled up and to the left
CC: You know, I think I do.
JH: Can you take me to him?
CC: Nope, sorry sir, no can do.
JH: How come?
CC: Because next year, Jimi Hendix will have been dead for 40 fucking years bro.
It’s at this point that the marine walks off frustrated, knowing that I am on to him, and he is wasting his time. Hey pal, it could be worse, you could be in Iraq. However, I get the feeling that perhaps he wished he was. By day three, things started getting ugly between the various security and the crowd. It was clear that security was overworked, underslept and their nerves were all but gone, as they were sick of chasing after half naked hippies whose only sins were heavy drug use and the tendency to throw glow sticks in their general direction.
Pig #3 – Local Law Enforcement
By now, you already know the tale of the dead hippie on the dance floor, but what about other cop experiences? I mean, these guys are here to serve and protect, yet each time I asked if they got one of the 8 shaped donuts, I got a dirty look. What’s up with that? I guess cops would rather just see people crushed to death (One cop made a The Who Cincinnati joke as the crowd of campers tried to get into the concert venue Saturday night, yet were held up by a very slow security line) then actually protect and serve. Watching this made me glad I had decided to mess with one of these foul swine earlier in the day. You see, it’s a well known fact that many law enforcement officers love the sauce. As I walked up for the afternoon set Halloween afternoon with a plastic cup full of Wild Turkey, I tried my best to share it with a police officer from near by Banning. I informed him as a tax payer that I was his boss, and it was his civic duty to share a plastic cup of Wild Turkey with me. As a CSC security guard with ESTRADA glasses tried to pat me down, I begged the officer to share this tasty treat with me. I could tell the pig wanted some, but he held strong and said I had to finish it. As I stood there, slowly slipping the beverage, I made sure to rub it in just how tasty it was. He watched and watched as I drank and drank, before finally gulping down the final sips of tasty Kentucky Bourbon.
In closing, I know I am not some hardcore rebel; I didn’t throw a brick in the face of a cop, or kick the shit out of a jarhead. But I did get to have a lil fun harassing the folks who harassed the folks who paid good cash to party in the desert. But hey, it is what it is right? We all knew going in that Riverside County (where Indio, Ca is located) is Jesus land, and they want to keep America safe by voting against gay marriage and busting people for selling mind expansion and that’s fine it’s their right to be ingnorant. I just hope that if Festival 9 does take place, the fine folks at Goldenvoice (the shows promoter) and county of Riverside understand that it’s a phucking phish show that is pumping buttloads of cash into the desolate and dirty wasteland they choose to call home.