Used Up, Let Down

In third grade there was a boy in my class who would constantly draw on himself with marker and paint his nails. His favorite color was black and he had a distinct way of isolating himself without even seeming to care. As a boy, I was indifferent to his choice of body art and weird behavior and over time I completely forgot his antics. Until I went to the Used concert. We showed up about and hour early to take in the sights and really get a feel for what it must be like to want to die. Three hundred 14 year olds standing in line talking about whatever it is 14 year olds talk about, looking like the beginnings of a Jonestown mass suicide party. The girl next to us in line was a self-proclaimed “world traveler” who smelled as if she hadn’t bathed in a week and said she was staying in a hotel room with her friend “Ronald”. Turns out “Ronald” had picked her up a few states away and, from the sound of it, was using Stockholm syndrome to his full advantage. The woman behind her was either a very healthy 55 year old, or a very alcoholic 39 year old. She had a heard of children with her and was wearing the bands tee shirt with her face painted like BoBo the Clown talking about how much she “really really needed to meet the band”. I, on the other hand, had expectations like that of an onlooker at the Special Olympics, no matter how great the show was at the end, we all looked like fucking morons standing in line to get in. It turns out only something like 400 people showed up for a show that was being held in a venue with a capacity for roughly 18,000. We looked like trailer trash gathering around a bug zapper; the bands that played must have been embarrassed to have to come out on stage to a crowd 8 people deep and 50 wide. Way to go Reno, you shit hole underachieving car wreck. The bands came, all 5 of them, the show sucked, we went home and passed out. I have to look at it this way, it was better than staying home on a Saturday night…barely.