Last night I went to that Henry Rollins spoken word show in Providence, RI. It took forever to get there because I had to pick up friends a half hour out of the way, and then we took an odd route to save some time. Once we did reach the crazy arts district in Providence though, all was good.

Ten dollars to the parking guy and we got in line. Half an hour later the doors opened and we moved to some chairs around the stage with a pretty good view. Realizing we still had an hour before he got on stage, we walked over to the merch booth. The shirts were too dumb and I already had the albums on sale from slsk. Then we saw the upstairs area. It looked cooler, and we were sure to avoid sitting behind some giant obstructing our view. So we grabbed our belongings and seat holder friend and went up the dark steps. It was a perfect spot and we defended our area like rabid wolves. We paid two dollars a piece for shitty hot dogs (the molecular bonds in the bread had trouble not breaking).

As the room got hotter the people got drunker, and finally the show began. This short(er than I expected) guy with gray hair jumped up with a notepad and water, and he started his performance.

Two and a half or so hours later we were cramped and thirsty, but it was well worth it. It was obvious Rollins could have kept going for days, but at the end of his allotted time he just abruptly said "thank you, good night." We stumbled out of the club and made our way back to my car.

Then I began the attempt at navigating out of the one-way street hell that is Providence. Somehow I found a sign saying I-95, and managed to get back on the highway. Unfortunately, my car was nearly running on empty, and I-95 does not have those convenient signs as you approach the exits that dictate whether or not there is food/shelter/petrol there. So I took a chance on one because I thought I saw gas station lights in the distance. Sure enough a Shell station was there in good old Pawtucket, and I coughed up 1.75 a gallon to fill up.

Now everyone else is exhausted, but I had worked that morning, and been up and down ladders doing overstock pull downs for four hours. (Ok, Jeff worked too but he has a cushy phone answering technical assistance job with some company). In doing that I somehow pulled my calf muscles or something, and so after sitting for a few hours in the club, it felt like I was being stabbed through the back of my leg constantly. So now I'm trying to 1] stay awake, 2] not get lost, and 3] make my legs respond enough to operate the vehicle. This is very difficult.

So back to the gas station, I've gone inside to regroup with my compatriots. One friend (Jeff) purchases a soda (coke I believe), another (Nate) decides that anytime is a good time for shitty microwaved sandwich-resembling objects, and goes for the Hot Pockets. He also bought some juicy beverage because it had "a cool bottle." His girlfriend (Cora) bought something else. I think it was candy. I buy water and return to the car until Nate and Cora finish microwaving the sandwich-resembling ingestible. Once in the car I begin oddly experimenting with various massaging methods for my legs to ease the pain. Nothing is working, and the only results are in the form of Nate saying, "Were you jerking off in there?" I swear I was not. I do have some decency.

We are all back in my love cruiser (now filled with the greasy aroma of Hot Pockets) and decide we should try and get back onto I-95, the great highway that should be very easily accessible, but isn't. Ok yeah I fucked up. Wrong one-way and we are in an area that sort of was a ghetto. Innocent mistake, and I get out of the area quickly. Then I take another weird guess of a turn near the Shell station that takes us far far away from other harmless white people like ourselves. Gang members sitting on their apartment's front steps, staring at the people obviously not in any gang, let alone theirs, passing by as fast as possible. I still don't know how, but after about ten minutes of this, I see a Shaws Supermarket in the distance and start tearing off in that direction. We're almost there when I see a tiny sign, practically a dessert plate on a twig that says "I-95 -->."

Engage brakes. Make hard right turn into completely dark road filled with potholes big enough to sink the titanic. We merge onto the barren highway and find that somehow in the course of not stopping in the gang neighborhoods, I drove us about three exits backwards before finding this onramp to I-95. This means I actually went over the highway. At least once. I hardly care at this point; all I need to concern myself with is keeping my eyes open. I had turned off the music when I was trying to find my way out of Pawtucket, and now to stay awake I turn it on again. In the back seat Nate and Cora complain that they are tired, and don't want my speakers blowing out their ears. Jeff in the passenger seat is also exhausted. Fine, I put on the Flamenco a Go Go album at a low volume, faded to the front speakers, and keep going. They all fall asleep within moments. Now I have no one to talk to, with only a general idea of how to get back to Cora's house (where I'm dropping her and Nate off). Jeff is the one who knows the route we are to take, and he is passed out. So, alone on a dark, quiet, highway after being awake for a very busy twenty hours, I have to drive another two hours at the very least.

So that fucking sucked, but I eventually made it to Route 122 and into Hardwick by waking up Jeff a few times going through Worcester (he works there and knows the area well). Picture a farming town like the Amish towns of old. This is my impression of Hardwick. It is the only town in the state of Massachusetts with Villages. This tiny town is actually subdivided into other villages. Named: Old Furnace, Gilbertville, etc. Cora's house is near the top of a fucking mountain of winding shitty roads in the 'Hardwick' Village of Hardwick. I just fly up the giant inclines, pull to the side of the road next to Nate's car, and collect my money for the tickets and transportation from Cora for her and Nate. We say goodnight, Jeff goes inside to call his mom (no one answered at the house, he thinks this is 'bullshit' or something) and when he gets back, we start to drive the last half hour to Hubbardston.

It is 2:30am when I drop off Jeff and a couple minutes later I'm at my house. Everyone else is asleep and I stumble upstairs to my room. I check to see if Kat answered my email (negatory) and collapse onto my bed, very very glad to not have to work the next day. I laugh about how there is some kid's festival in the mall the next day and I will not have to deal with working at a toy store on that day. Ha ha ha, all is good. I drift off to sleep within seconds.

Knocking on my door. What time is it? 9AM. Too early, need sleep. More knocking, oh right. My sister says something through the door. I remember how to speak and mumble something along the lines of "what?"

"Derek called last night. He wants you to come to work today at noon."

I thought I was hallucinating so I retort with a more curious inquiring noise.

"You have to go to work soon, can I have a ride to the mall?"

Yeah sure, get ready to leave for 11:20.

I went to work. I got home at 6:45 after that horrible day of screaming children. It really was not as bad as I thought it would be. Derek was glad I showed up, and now that the shift is over, I'll be glad to get the time and a half pay in the next cheque.

Would I do it again to see Henry Rollins? Of course =]

who got you onto this Henry Rollins addiction anyway? I think he's been to a north-east uni before, not sure. I recognise the name.

Posted by Jon from 62.31.255.83 @ 03/26/2003 08:38 AM CST