Might As Well Read online

  “Tickie-tickie, tickie-tickie.”

  (I know someone’s got it, I can smell it. I know it’s around here.)

  (HEY! SMELL THIS!)

  “Tickie-tockie, tockie-tickie. Tick-tick. Tock-tock.”

  (Come on, where is it? Who’s got it? Who’s got my ticket?)

  (YO, I GOT YOUR TICKET RIGHT HERE ON MY FACE! BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO SIT DOWN AND PICK IT OFF! AND NO FAIR USING YOUR HANDS!)

  “Here, tickie, tickie, tickie. Tickie-tickie. Tockie-tockie…”

  (I’LL GIVE YOU SOME TICKIE-TOCKIE! COME OVER HERE AND RIDE THIS!”

  (Who’s got-hey, what is it with you? Why do you talk like that? What does that even mean?)

  “Forget it Mara. Come on, let’s keep moving. Some people are assholes.”

  (No, wait. What did I do to deserve this? Hey you, what did I do to make you say that?)

  (YOU’RE HOT!)

  (So what’s it to you? I look how I look, I can’t help it. I’m skipping along with my friend here trying to get a ticket and you—)

  (SHE’S HOT TOO!)

  (Yeah but what does that have to do with you? We’re not leading you on. We’re not prancing around in garter belts and high heels. We’re not dressed up to get messed up. So don’t give us that shit.)

  “Yeah, we don’t even shave.”

  (You’re girls, you don’t need to.)

  “We’re women. And check this out.”

  (Ahhh, fuck. That just fucking ruined it for me. Alright girlies, move the fuck along. No need to show off your freaking mulberry bush.)

  (Her what? Stevie, did she just show you—)

  (No, her nasty armpit hair, she showed me her nasty thatch of armpit hair.)

  “Well we handled that with dignity.”

  (Yeah that shaving bit tends to get ’em. But I’m still pissed. I gave up that girly shit years ago. I don’t need it.)

  “No, stop. Listen, you’re right. They’re power tools. But there’s nothing you can do to change it. It’d be nice if they were different but they’re not and you’re not going to make them change. Just let them do what they have to do. We’re Deadheads, they’re meatheads”

  (Robin, you’re too fucking kind.)

  RANDY

  Man, we’re flying through the lanes. I gotta get me one of these bikes. That’s what did me in yesterday, all the love caravan bullshit.

  “So you’re a Deadhead? I wouldn’t figure you for a Deadhead.”

  (What’s a Deadhead supposed to look like?)

  “I don’t know but you seem more like a metal maniac to me.”

  (I’ve run with the Old Bridge Metal Militia.)

  “And you’re also a Deadhead?”

  (I’m no Deadhead but I’ve seen the Grateful Dead when they come around.)

  “How many times have you seen them?”

  (That’s a rather personal question Macho Man, what’s it to you? How many times have you seen the Grateful Dead?)

  “Including last night? Nonce. Not a single note.”

  (Is that true? I thought I saw you at one of the stadium shows last summer. I’m pretty sure you were the guy in the upper balcony wearing the dayglo body paint and the tie-dyed Speedo. How long did it take you to get that green crap off your nipples?)

  “What can I tell you, I’m a deviant.”

  (That’s the spirit.)

  “The thing I don’t get is all the religious stuff though. All these people walking up and down the highway with their fingers pointed up to heaven. Like that guy right there on the roller blades with his ‘I Need A Miracle’ sign. I’m a good Catholic boy but I just don’t get it. Are the Grateful Dead all Jehovah’s Witnesses are something?)

  “Wait, why are we slowing down?”

  (You’re shitting me, right?)

  “Now why would I do that, seeing as how we’re so close and all?”

  (Point well taken, Macho Man. No that’s not religion. Well, it’s Dead religion. It’s secular religion. Is there such a thing as secular religion?)

  “I’m just a second semester sophomore. That’s beyond my pay grade.”

  (They’re not pointing to heaven and asking for miracles, they’re pointing to the earth and asking for miracle tickets. It’s a song. ‘I Need A Miracle.’)

  “Well can you speed up, because I need one now.”

  (I don’t have an extra ticket.)

  “Well that’s fine because I’m sure as shit not here to see the show. I just need some of that miracle action to get me there on time so I can do my job. The traffic out here is even worse than when they play next door at the football stadium. Cars are parked on the turnpike now and they’re only playing at the hockey rink. That was my stumbling block last night. The road is packed worse than before a football game. How could I know that the hockey rink was gonna have more traffic than the football stadium. It’s unnatural.”

  (Amen to that.)

  STEVEN

  Happy Heads. Carloads of ’em.

  That goes two ways, I guess.

  “Hey look, you guys, happy Heads.”

  (No shit, Sherlock.)

  “Wipe me, Watson.”

  (What’s that?)

  (Forget it, Zack, just drive.)

  “Get it? Happy Heads, happy Deadheads, happy heads, you know faces and skulls, Stealies, that sort of stuff.”·

  (Steven, my man, I think you’re one toke over the line.)

  Ahhh, they don’t want to get it. Who cares. Happy Heads. With happy skulls. Yeah, skulls is exactly right because all the cars we pass are covered with Steal Your Face Grateful Dead skull stickers. And all sorts of other ones-like right there, the dancing turtles from the cover of Terrapin Station. And dancing bears, dancing skeletons. All sorts of dancing stuff. The stickers are sweet and they also identify you as a Head to the other Heads and to the world. They tell everyone that you’re a Head and proud of it. They look festive and well, happy.

  Which was my point. Everyone who passes us and everyone we pass who is wearing tie-dye or has a sticker on the back window is waving or giving the peace sign. And that’s cool. No, it’s more than cool. I bet this doesn’t happen for any other concert. And that’s why this isn’t just a concert. There’s music but it’s more than the music. We’re drawn here by the music but there’s something here that’s bigger than the music. At least it seems so to me. But then again, this is my first show, what do I know?

  No, I know. It’s more. Okay, I’ve never been to a show yet but I’ve been close. I’ve seen Max Creek plenty of times.

  Besides I can feel it, I’m a part of it. And not all of it is right here and now. It’s like at Willington, almost everyone’s a Head. I bet seventy or eighty percent of the students at least like the music. But the biggest Heads, the ones who are really into it, we hang together and we work together to do stuff. A bunch of Heads organized a food co-op last year so that we could get soda and chips on campus. We all took turns working, we had the music cranking and everyone was grooving. It provided a service and none of us got paid. That’s just one example of Heads working together to help each other and everyone else, too.

  There was also that soup line thing. I wasn’t into that but a number of Heads were. Faye organized it and they fed a bunch of the townies. It probably got her into Harvard. Shannon and Emily worked on it too. Stuff like that is real helpful to everyone and it looks good on your college applications. I bet that next year the two of them—

  (Hey, you guys, check this out. On my side. That camper has a VW bus soldered into the roof. Man that’s cool.)

  (Yeah, I talked to those guys once. It was really easy for them to do it. They had this old van and they just cut off the top and added the VW.)

  “You know those guys?”

  (I’ve seen ’em at shows. Nate, you were there when I talked to them, right?)


  (Last year at Buffalo. Yeah, it’s primo dank inside. Plush. A thick rug perfect for sitting back and baking down. And the bus top’s a skylight too.)

  (Yeah, I remember that, it was after the show and I really wanted to sit back and get high.)

  “So why didn’t you?”

  (It wasn’t our van, it wouldn’t have been cool. Besides, we had to find our car.)

  (Yeah, the reason we talked to those guys in the first place was to ask them if we could stand on the roof of the van and look for our car.)

  “And they let you?”

  (Yeah.)

  “And did you see your car?”

  (No but we found it eventually. We were so stoned going in that we forgot to notice where we parked. It turned out we were looking on the wrong side of the building.)

  (Yeah and check this out. I just remembered this. There were these other guys there, on the same side of the building as the van. They had this little campfire built and they heard us talking and they told us to sit down with them. They were pretty fucked up too. They were sitting there waiting for the lot to empty out because they couldn’t find their cars either. So they decided to make a little fire to keep warm, pass around a bowl and wait for the other cars to leave so that theirs would be the only ones left.)

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  (Yeah.)

  “So did you sit down with them?”

  (We took a couple hits off the bowl. Then Jason got antsy so we got moving. We should have hung there though. We pretty much didn’t find the car until the lot emptied out anyhow and our legs were pretty fucking sore by then.)

  Now that’s a real Grateful Dead story. That’s cool. That’s something that only happens at a Grateful Dead show. And it’s possible that—

  “Hey, wait, do you think we’ll have that problem tonight?”

  (Not now we won’t. We’re putting you in charge. When we get in there, Steven, old pal, remember where we park. There’s a number and a letter.)

  “Okay, sure. But I wasn’t just thinking about us. What about Emily and those guys? Do you think they’ll remember to do that?”

  (Probably. They’re a lot smarter than we are.)

  (No wait, Jas—hold on. Emily and those guys? You want to be more specific?)

  “What do you mean?”

  Shit.

  (By those guys you wouldn’t be referring to one Shannon Phelps, would you?)

  (Dude, you got to set your sights a little lower.)

  “Listen—”

  (Actually, guy, I’m just busting your balls. Word on the street is that she thinks you’re not altogether hane. So who knows, after the show—)

  “Hey—”

  (You could smoke a bone then slip her your bone.)

  “Shit, come on, cork it.”

  I love this.

  ZEB

  (You got any smoke?)

  “No, brother, I’m selling beer.”

  (I’m looking for the kind bud. Can you get me the kind bud?)

  “I’m not holding.”

  (We’ve got an extra ticket. We’ll trade you the ticket for the kind.)

  “I’m not holding. But I’d be stoked to buy it off you.”

  (So would everyone else. We’re looking for the kind.)

  “Well if you don’t find any would you consider selling me the ticket?”

  (We’d consider it. We’d consider it a bit more if you can point us to someone who’s holding the green.)

  “Sorry, brother.”

  (Then what’s with your shirt? It says ‘Let It Grow’ and it’s decorated with pot leaves.)

  “Sharon over there made it.”

  (Don’t you think that’s false advertising?)

  “It’s not advertising, it just keeps me warm. I’d be warmer inside the show though, if you’re really concerned.”

  (We’re not that concerned.)

  (Sorry, man, apparently Kevbo isn’t all that concerned.)

  “Well we can all still work together to keep this a work free drug place.”

  (Funkin Gonuts!)

  (Although you do seem to be sending mixed messages.)

  “Nah, I’m just selling bumperstickers. Remember, hippies don’t die, they go up in smoke.”

  Gotta be kind to the custies.

  It can weird though. And not always the right kind of weird. Every night without fail. The dudes in the thirty-five dollar designer tie-dyes and hundred dollar sneakers come up to me, hoping to make the big score. And the harsh thing is they never look me in the eyes. They’re always looking around, like they’re totally afraid of cops but they really make an effort not to see me. I’m good enough to score them dope but they won’t make eye contact.

  There’s fucked up people out here. There’s fucked up people everywhere but there’s a certain type of fucked up person out here that especially bums me out. Like those two dudes from New Hampshire I met last spring. I had thought they were pretty righteous. They picked me up in D.C. and drove me down to Greensboro. They were on tour, had mail orders for the whole Greensboro run and they seemed right on. But we were eating at some diner and one of the dudes saw these two other guys eating and I didn’t notice it, but the dude said that he saw one of the guys feeding the other guy some french fries in a sexy way. So these dudes from New Hampshire, I think they were going to college up there, started giving these two guys all sorts of shit and started throwing fries at them.

  And I mean, no way. How can they be Heads? How can they listen to the music, feel it so much that they want to travel down to North Carolina to see the Boys and still have a problem with the french fry guys? A Head should be able to move beyond that and respect other people who aren’t invading their space or anything. And these dudes had gone on about recycling and they were real careful about where they put their garbage, talking about mother earth and all that but how can you care about mother earth without being kind to her children?

  Even I’ve figured that out, without a high school diploma.

  ROBIN

  “Wait, hold on. Emergency.”

  (What is it?)

  “Doses.”

  (What about ’em?)

  “We need ’em.”

  (No, we don’t.)

  “Okay, we don’t need ’em but I do think they would contribute to our enjoyment of the show. Assuming that is we find some tickets. HERE TICKlE TICKlE TICKlE!”

  (No, Rob, we don’t need them because we already have them. I have a couple left over from Philly.)

  “The unicorns? Oh, they were cute…”

  (Yeah. I thought that guy gave us three but it turned out he gave us five.)

  “Kind… But wait, those would’ve been our ‘Dark Star’ doses. It’s sad.”

  (No, no, no. It’s good luck. Those doses were there for us. They were good to go. It’s our fault we couldn’t find tickets, not the doses’ fault. And I think these doses are ready to make it up to us if we can get into the show.)

  “Well then, maybe it’s time to pull out all the stops.”

  (You mean?)

  “Singing. Let’s do it, woman. Beatles style. Take my hand. All right, one…two…three…

  “ALL WE NEED IS ONE!

  “ALL WE NEED IS ONE!

  “ALL WE NEED IS ONE!

  “ONE!

  “ONE IS ALL WE NEED!”

  TAPER TED

  (Okay, big bro, now I’ll acknowledge this isn’t a cult…)

  “Generous of you.”

  (…Begrudgingly. But when you ask me to think back to my first show, I think Moonie. And not pie in the sky dreaminess here, I’m talking the Unification Church because everyone just seemed so fixated on my happiness.)

  “Why that sounds horrific.”

  (I’ve never had so many strangers seem so concern
ed about whether or not I was having a good time.)

  “I’m aghast.”

  (You’re a ghast bag.)

  (Ahh, bad puns, that must mean someone’s brother is in line with us.)

  (Hey, Reg. Dead greetings and all that.)

  (What brings you out tonight, Dr. Tommy?)

  (Who wouldn’t jump on a chance to attend a Grateful Dead show and stand as quiet as possible with minimal physical movement to prevent any jostling of microphone stands?)

  (Umm, me. And all of us in this line.)

  (Hells yeah!)

  (Speaking of us though, the last time you joined our ranks, you were with a dupe.)

  (Yeah, I’d have to dupe anyone to suffer through an evening with this crew.)

  (He means a duplicate, a plus one.)

  “He wants to know what happened to Anna.”

  (Ahh, well, let’s just say that I learned a valuable lesson. It turns out ‘Why are you asking me that?’ is a fine response to just about any question other than ‘Do you love me?’)

  (And ‘Why aren’t you wearing pants?’)

  (And ‘Does that grizzly bear seem agitated to you?’)

  (And ‘Why did the angry officer just unholster his gun?’)

  (And ‘Why did you just unholster your pants?’)

  (Enough with the pants.)

  “And why is there a blinking Error 10 message on my TCD-D7?”

  (How to bring it around, big bro. Yeah, it was a less than satisfying conclusion to a three year relationship. I suppose in the end my problem with Anna was that she made me stop believing in the power of redemption.”

  “And she stole your fancy coffee maker.”

  (That too.)

  (Anyhow I’m on the prowl tonight and there’s no better place to find a foxy, single woman than the tapers’ section of a Grateful Dead show.)

  (Come on now, no need to be sexist.)

  (That’s not sexism, that’s the power of observation.)

  (Well when you fall off that horse you’ve got to get right back on again.)

  (Now, Reg, is that an appropriate thing to say to a recovering heroin addict?)