This was about three weeks after I graduated high school.
I’m old enough to remember when they had concerts at racetracks. Hard, hot, shadeless, ugly, barren places. Put people in a big green field, that’s how you get Woodstock. This kind of place gets you Altamont.
Anyway, when you’re 18, who gives a crap. Drove to this show with a guy named Granny. Don’t remember much else, other than BOC, who came on last – after dark – had “lasers” and played Don’t Fear the Reaper.
On each side of the infield ran a tall chain-link fence, from the stage to the back, a good 100 yards. To get to the food or bathrooms you had to go all the way back, around the fence. As I started the hike I noticed a guy had found (or cut) a flap in it – in fact, he was holding up the flap for me, and beckoning me through. What a gentleman! And as I bent over and stepped through, he kicked me in the ass as hard as he could.
This kind of thing will make one very angry. But there was no way to get to him – I’d have to bend over to get back through, and then he’d kick me in the face. Then I heard laughter; I was standing in a crowd of past kick-ees who were over their anger, in fact they were laughing. At me. Once they were victims; now they were an audience, even co-conspirators. And they waited in anticipation of the next victim.
Just then I noticed that Asskick Man was welcoming another concertgoer though his idiot portal, and I thought, this is gonna be good.