I have lasted for the whole show, and though I’m not clawing my way to the gates, I’ve had enough.
Somehow, I seem to be more or less alone in this feeling, as everyone around me is screaming and stomping and hooting for more.
People weave among each other, seeking out and selling bootleg shirts, pins and paraphernalia.
I run into a few acquaintances, and I wish I were more of a Grateful Dead fan, because the merchandise selection out here is truly incredible.
As Trey Anastasio and company take the stage, the smell of weed hangs in the air, and the cloud only thickens as the night progresses, as I'd expected.
Though a few folks are clearly having a more colorful time than others, no one ever seems to bother anyone else.
I continue scoping the scene from inside the venue, eventually finding my former high school economics teacher.
He’s been to more than 20 Phish shows, he says, and he gives me a few tips that prove useful: They’ll “bring it down” around the end of the first set or beginning of the second, for instance, and I should watch the drummer, because he holds it all together. I notice all types of people here, though they are mostly white and mostly male.
I am a confident, single young woman preparing to leave the house for an outing.This is, remember, a world about which I know almost nothing, mostly due to the above afflictions.I arrive early enough to scope out the "lot scene" of which I've heard.No, I am donning my second-cleanest cutoffs and spending an hour in traffic to go to a Phish show—my first—alone.Here, flying solo at this Phish show, I will confront the very personality traits that have probably led me to attending a Phish show by myself.