I don’t always think things through. When I made the decision to attend this show at a tiny, overcrowded venue with no ventilation I thought to myself, “It’s chilly outside and my car takes a minute to warm up so I better grab my coat.” So after parking seven blocks away I was left with a crucial decision: be cold on my walk, or carry a jacket all night.
If only I could go back and tell the younger me to leave the jacket in the car. Oh my God I’m sweating my balls off. This venue is known to have an unsavory clientele so stashing the jacket under a chair is a sure fire way for me to lose the one piece of outerwear I actually own. I tried taking it off and draping it over my arm for a few songs, but holding something that acts as padding is the mosh pit equivalent to wearing water wings.
So here I sit, the sweatiest man in America, knowing I could have avoided this whole ordeal if I was smart enough to realize that the combined body temperatures of 37 rabid moshers would raise the temperature in the room to something comparable to the surface of Mercury.
No amount of water intake can help my rapidly pruning internal organs. It’s like being stuck in an industrial oven made of body odor and spilled beer. This is not my first rodeo though- I knew this venue didn’t allow reentry, and I’ll be damned if I have to donate another five canned goods to get back in. I hope when I burst into flames I take this entire venue down to hell with me. It’s probably cooler down there anyway.
Either way, all I know is a three dollar coat check is a total rip off so that’s not an option.