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Back now, thank f... goodness.
13 years ago
Who'd have known a music festival could be the very embodiment of the gates of hell?
Ok, I understand that those on crew tickets aren't going to be there purely for fun but there should at least be an element bearability (real word? Probably not) to it, right?
I suppose it wasn't such a hot idea for them to invite me along as crew while I'm suffering from SSRI withdrawal... but my presence was volunteered and confirmed as cake-baker before I'd had a chance to dispute it.
It was actually a balls-up from the start:
The journey down to Royal Tunbridge Wells (apparently that "Royal" bit makes all the difference) was a long one but the downer came when a lorry driver tried to barge into the convoy we were in... 3 times. I was 'driver's mate' ("mate" in the professional sense, it's purely platonic) on the journey and the driver decided it'd be a great idea to stop this lorry getting in by driving less than 3 feet from the van in front, in a stack of other vehicles at 60MPH. For someone with an already prominent anxiety issue AND SSRI withdrawal, you can imagine that this was NOT a calming event and I couldn't look out of the window for the rest of the journey, about 120 miles, without an innate panic rising in me. Didn't help that Mr. Driver wasn't happy about me 'yelling' at him to back off from the van in front (I was actually begging, but you get what I mean).
I had to bring the rats with me, couldn't leave them home alone, and when we got there I discovered that the girl, who is getting rather old now, had taken a bad turn... I honestly thought she was dying. She's still with us now... but she's really showing her age and probably hasn't got long left now. Still, all I can do is keep her happy and comfortable until the end.
Setting up was chaos, there were all sorts of new things and another crew was joining us so nobody seemed to know where the hell ANYTHING went. Bearing in mind I was doing this already stressed, anxious and with what I thought to be a dying best friend in the van... and the one person offering their condolences every few minutes didn't help keep my mind off it. Path to hell; good intentions and all that.
Even the job I'd been brought there to do, cake making, was taken up by someone else they already had to do it so I couldn't help out with that. Couldn't even take a station and make my own because it was only vegan cakes on the menu this time (thanks for letting me know in plenty of time, guys!) I'd had no training in the cafe so that was out of the question and when I tried to find something to do, everyone's advice was essentially "try to find something to do".
The time I had spare was ruined as well, spent between worrying about Girl-Rat, feeling floating stress and anxiety, avoiding the rain and being beaten down by the music... oh dear [insert deity of choice here], the music! I know there's going to be music at a music festival but this WASN'T music! The host had got a new sound system and had to play with his new toy by turning both volume and bass to the max. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a little bass (happier with real music but whatever) but we were camped up half a mile across the field and it was still shaking the van walls, every single beat pounded around insite my skull and this went on for 8 fecking hours!.
Thing is, I'm not a big fan of rap in the first place and the set these wankers had put on was just... well, what business is it of theirs where I've fucked or who I've killed? and with a sound setup like that it was nothing other than offensive.
I couldn't relax, I couldn't read... I couldn't even draw in my 'spare' time.
Tack-down was even worse than setting up. Still nobody knew where anything went, our van was leaving a day earlier than the others so nobody knew what was being loaded and this one old fucker sat around doing nothing ther than bitching about everyone about how they were doing it wrong, f-in' and blindin' if we weren't doing it his way... the word "stress" doesn't even come close to doing it justice, I honestly can't find the appropriate words to explain how bad it was.
Still, I'm finally back now, after nearly a week of hell, calm(ish), trying to relax, able to draw again (yay!) and determined not to go to any more of these things as crew until the whole bunch can pull their act together and the old c*nt's dead.
TL;DR version: You lazy b'stard's! I'm giving you insight into my life and you can't be bothered to read it!?
I'm just kidding, in summary; bad journey, bad events, huge stress and terrible music but thankfully back home and drawing again now.
Ok, I understand that those on crew tickets aren't going to be there purely for fun but there should at least be an element bearability (real word? Probably not) to it, right?
I suppose it wasn't such a hot idea for them to invite me along as crew while I'm suffering from SSRI withdrawal... but my presence was volunteered and confirmed as cake-baker before I'd had a chance to dispute it.
It was actually a balls-up from the start:
The journey down to Royal Tunbridge Wells (apparently that "Royal" bit makes all the difference) was a long one but the downer came when a lorry driver tried to barge into the convoy we were in... 3 times. I was 'driver's mate' ("mate" in the professional sense, it's purely platonic) on the journey and the driver decided it'd be a great idea to stop this lorry getting in by driving less than 3 feet from the van in front, in a stack of other vehicles at 60MPH. For someone with an already prominent anxiety issue AND SSRI withdrawal, you can imagine that this was NOT a calming event and I couldn't look out of the window for the rest of the journey, about 120 miles, without an innate panic rising in me. Didn't help that Mr. Driver wasn't happy about me 'yelling' at him to back off from the van in front (I was actually begging, but you get what I mean).
I had to bring the rats with me, couldn't leave them home alone, and when we got there I discovered that the girl, who is getting rather old now, had taken a bad turn... I honestly thought she was dying. She's still with us now... but she's really showing her age and probably hasn't got long left now. Still, all I can do is keep her happy and comfortable until the end.
Setting up was chaos, there were all sorts of new things and another crew was joining us so nobody seemed to know where the hell ANYTHING went. Bearing in mind I was doing this already stressed, anxious and with what I thought to be a dying best friend in the van... and the one person offering their condolences every few minutes didn't help keep my mind off it. Path to hell; good intentions and all that.
Even the job I'd been brought there to do, cake making, was taken up by someone else they already had to do it so I couldn't help out with that. Couldn't even take a station and make my own because it was only vegan cakes on the menu this time (thanks for letting me know in plenty of time, guys!) I'd had no training in the cafe so that was out of the question and when I tried to find something to do, everyone's advice was essentially "try to find something to do".
The time I had spare was ruined as well, spent between worrying about Girl-Rat, feeling floating stress and anxiety, avoiding the rain and being beaten down by the music... oh dear [insert deity of choice here], the music! I know there's going to be music at a music festival but this WASN'T music! The host had got a new sound system and had to play with his new toy by turning both volume and bass to the max. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind a little bass (happier with real music but whatever) but we were camped up half a mile across the field and it was still shaking the van walls, every single beat pounded around insite my skull and this went on for 8 fecking hours!.
Thing is, I'm not a big fan of rap in the first place and the set these wankers had put on was just... well, what business is it of theirs where I've fucked or who I've killed? and with a sound setup like that it was nothing other than offensive.
I couldn't relax, I couldn't read... I couldn't even draw in my 'spare' time.
Tack-down was even worse than setting up. Still nobody knew where anything went, our van was leaving a day earlier than the others so nobody knew what was being loaded and this one old fucker sat around doing nothing ther than bitching about everyone about how they were doing it wrong, f-in' and blindin' if we weren't doing it his way... the word "stress" doesn't even come close to doing it justice, I honestly can't find the appropriate words to explain how bad it was.
Still, I'm finally back now, after nearly a week of hell, calm(ish), trying to relax, able to draw again (yay!) and determined not to go to any more of these things as crew until the whole bunch can pull their act together and the old c*nt's dead.
TL;DR version: You lazy b'stard's! I'm giving you insight into my life and you can't be bothered to read it!?
I'm just kidding, in summary; bad journey, bad events, huge stress and terrible music but thankfully back home and drawing again now.
