Port-O-Let

This week is the big blues festival that is held annually here in The New City.  It's a five day affair and it's pretty big.  SuperK and I usually head down in the afternoon and hang out until early evening, at which point we hightail it home.  The crowds get pretty oppressive and the drinking becomes more apparent as the day wears on, although it isn't quite the focal point that it used to be in The Old City.  People are so nice here; I still can't figure out how they're going to screw me somehow.


Yesterday we went to a barbecue before we went blues hopping so we didn't arrive until early evening.  Once we entered the venue the first thing we saw was the long, long line snaking around the beer tent.  It was quite a wait to get a beer.  I have no idea what the beers cost but I bet they weren't going for 75 cents.  I thought: "Yeah, that was me."  Screw the music, which is the whole point of a music festival, as I understand the concept -  I'm going to go stand in line for an hour so that I may enjoy the privilege of buying a five dollar beer. 


I felt for my wallet, enjoying the slight heft of the cash that it contained, secure in the knowledge  that it would be there when I got home.  I enjoyed the feeling brought about by a small release of endorphins.  Until I went by the Port-O-Let area, where the lines made the beer stand queue look manageable.  I wondered which was most frustrating: the delay to buy the beer or the agony endured waiting to recycle it back.  And there's nothing like the lovely Port-O-Let environment - urine soaked, enclosed plastic pod, baking in the sun.  I never grasped the cause and effect of the beer leading, inevitably, to the Port-O-Lets when I was drinking.


Really enjoyed the music.