The air is thick without the breeze. I lay on top of my sleeping bag, feeling the sweat drip down my spine. I'm wearing shorts that have long lost the elasticity and a Hanes tank top that fits like a loose crop top. I’m more comfortable sleeping in a baggy, cotton shirt, but it's just too much clothing for this heat. I lean forward and unzip the two front windows of the tent. AC is a luxury that I took advantage of at home, and I miss it terribly. It's been five full days, six if you count the night my friend, Steph, and I arrived at the volunteer site, or day four of the music festival. It's six a.m. and the sun is rising, baking us out of the tent.
My light blue sheet has a shadow of my body, with legs, butt, back, and arms, imprinted in sweat. I would normally be disgusted, but I'm too tired to care. I place my head back on my pillow. I'm trying to forget that I have to go to the bathroom. The idea of walking across the volunteer site to the porta-johns makes me cringe. I drift off.
Six-thirty a.m.—that was short lived. Steph has tossed her sleeping bag open. I open the tent door to let some more air in.
We had set-up the tent in front of Steph's car, a small blue Hyundai Accent. The tent only opens halfway—Steph's half. I need more air, so I roll out the door and lay on the blue tarp. I'm sure it looks strange, but I've seen stranger things this past week. The tarp is wet with dew and feels nice and cool with the shade. I fall back to sleep. We have two blue tarps, so we set one under the tent, just in case it rained, along with a folded one in front of the tent—my secondary bed. It helps keep the itchy, tall grass off our legs while we sit in the folding lawn chairs. I peel my face off the plastic tarp and take a sip of warm water from my HydroBak—greatest investment for a summer music festival. It's lemon green, with a bit of dirt and suntan lotion on the straps and flap—bright enough to help Steph pick me out from the crowd. My urge to pee has gone away. Where to? Who knows! But if I had to guess, I’d say I must have sweat it out.
Steph is the reason I came to Bonnaroo. Music festivals are a huge part of her life. My idea of a vacation is going to the beach or going to an artsy town, looking at art exhibits. Her idea of a getaway is a music festival—being filled with the music and atmosphere days on end, camping with millions of strangers. She was going to go alone! But after discussing her upcoming trips in October, she asked if I wanted to come along to Tennessee.
"Bonnaroo is amazing," said Steph. "You can look at my old photos on Facebook to get an idea of what it looks like—under the 'Dustaroo' album. I called it that because it never rained when we were there. There was just so much dust and dirt. I could rub the dirt off my legs…my feet were disgusting."
"That does sound amazing," I said. Which also meant, that sounds awful.
"It's been a long time...I think five years, since I went. But I remember baby wipes became my best friend." She laughed. "They had showers, but you had to pay for them, so I just cleaned myself with wipes at night."
The silence on my end probably showed my hesitation.
Steph continued, "I hear volunteers get free showers though!"
I never thought I’d think, yay, a shower.
"This is my first time volunteering, so I'm not sure how different it will be. If you volunteer with me, we'd be together in the same campgrounds."
"Yeah, if I go," strong emphasis on if, "I would definitely volunteer. I would probably like to have the same volunteer shifts as you."
"We can look into it more. I'm sure they would let us work together," said Steph. "I hope you come. I couldn't find anyone that could go. But don't feel like you have to…I signed up to volunteer no matter what. I know I want to do it."
"It would be a cool experience...and I know I would never do anything like this if I didn't have someone to go with. So, this would be a great time to try it." Plus, I'll have graduated from Coastal by then.
"Just know that you should probably decide soon. I mean you have some time because the festival isn't till June, but their volunteer groups sign-up pretty fast."
I contemplated the fact that the closest thing I came to camping was in a tent in my backyard. When I was little, I filled the tent with pillows and snacks with my friends, and we would go inside to use the bathroom. At Bonnaroo, I'll be using a porta-john, I won't be able to shower, I'll have to deal with bugs, and I'll constantly be hot. The answer was simple, but in March I said yes. I paid the application fee and the deposit. I shouldn't be afraid of life, and I might never have the opportunity to experience something like this again. I don't know much about music and I never remember artist names, but I like a variety: country, pop, rock, rap, indie, reggae, etc. Listening to the same thing can be boring. Steph helped schedule out our time based on what bands she wants to see, or has to see, along with what bands I might enjoy. It gives me comfort having a schedule, and I enjoy Steph's taste in music.
Steph and I place oatmeal in a plastic cup on top of the car. It works pretty well when the sun makes the car hot as a stovetop. I had organized the car when we first arrived: all our food is in the trunk of the car; plates, plasticware, and paper towels are in the backseat, on the driver's side; and toilet paper and tissues are in the backseat of the passenger's side. The Yeti doubled as a tabletop in the trunk, which makes making PB sandwiches a bit easier. Steph and I don't talk much in the morning...not till after breakfast. I sit in the chair next to her, in front of the tent. As we eat, the sun slowly starts to hit us, so we move to the ground, on the tarp, hidden in the last bit of shade.
"Morning," says the bearded neighbor on our left. "You know you guys can sit under my canopy for shade. I'm headed off to work now anyway."
"Thank you. It probably looks pretty silly with us sitting in the tiny bit of shade we have left, huh?" I reply.
"Looks a bit uncomfortable," he states.
Steph and I made friends with our neighbors: Beard to our left, Faye and the Boys to the left of him, Truck Girl to our right, and He’s-High in front of our tent. I haven’t seen He’s-High in a while…I hope he’s okay. Everyone is really friendly—especially after hearing this is our first time volunteering—so it is pretty easy making friends with the people around you, and the groups you volunteer with. I have a hard time remembering everyone’s name, but I’m sure they can’t remember our names either. I even surprised my level of "nice" when I helped He’s-High braid his freshly, blue-dyed hair. It was gross, sticky, and he was sweating blue. I could have done without that experience.
After eating breakfast under Beard’s canopy, I reluctantly shut the tent to change into my bathing suit top and shorts. I've been wearing the same jean shorts for the past five days—I don't want to get another pair dirty, and I’m pretty sure these are going in the garbage when I get home. I notice my shorts have a ring of dirt on the inside…probably from all the suntan lotion on my legs. It is gross, but I'll be thankful when I get to put on my clean pair for the trip home. I’m sure Steph will also be thankful when I get in her car later.
I put sunscreen and my tank top on once outside the tent, where I can breathe. I tie my flannel on the bottom of my CamelBak for later. After sweating all day, it gets pretty cool at night. I use the gallon of water in the trunk to fill the HydroBak and I pack snacks in behind it. I grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth with the jug of water, spitting into the woods on our right. I take my travel soap and wash my hands with the jug of water, and put my contacts in. Steph is still getting ready, so I sit in the shade and wait for her.
"What time is the first band?" I ask.
"It's at 12:45, so we can get coffee before we start," Steph replies.
"I feel like this week has been more like weeks. But, now that it's the last day, I’m kinda sad." Surprisingly!
"I'm sad it's the last day, but I know next weekend I'll be going to Delaware for the Firefly festival."
"I don't know how you have the energy. I'm so exhausted from this week."
"Well, I won't be volunteering for that one," Steph explained. "And it's not as hot there, as it is here."
As Steph puts suntan lotion on, I go in the tent and organize my stuff. I put my backpack and my baby suitcase into the car. I usually leave my clothes in the tent, but since it's our last night I figure the more I do now, the less I'll have to do later. I leave my Ziplock bag of face wipes, baby wipes, my blue toiletries bag, glasses, and a change of clothes for tomorrow in the tent. I'll use that stuff tonight and tomorrow morning before we leave.
Steph comes by the car. "You don't have to pack now. We can pack when we get back."
"Ah, I figure it is easier now than it will be later, when it's dark."
"Well, I'm going to wait to do it tonight."
Being sweaty, gross, and in the heat all day, for five days, can make any pair of friends irritable. We are actually doing quite well…I’m not sure I could do this with anyone else. We have been friends long enough to know each other’s temperaments with things. For example, you don’t rush Steph. And then there’s me, who hates being late. However, I'm in no rush to get to the festival because we have all day. But I also can't hold it anymore! I grab a roll of toilet paper out of the tent and put more wipes into a small, Ziplock bag. I walk down a row of tents and cars, pass the long line for the showers and sinks.
Steph and I learned after the first morning, that it wasn’t worth it to brush our teeth with the running water—swishing the taste of egg in our mouths wasn’t the great, clean feeling we were looking for. I had tried to wash my hands with the sulfur water and put my contacts in, and damn—Big mistake! Huge! I don’t see the point of showering anymore either. Sure, it’s cold, but as soon as you step outside, you’re drenched in sweat again. I'm also afraid if I did, I would feel gross. I mean right now I'm used to feeling this way. But if I shower, I'll have to go through the grungy process all over again. In actuality, my hair isn’t greasy looking—which usually happens after two days—but the dirt in the air is probably drying out any oil.
The first set of porta-johns has a long line, so I keep walking to the far side. I have discovered less people use the farther ones early in the morning, so they are slightly cleaner—emphasis on slightly. The sign might say, "This is a potty, not a party, so keep it clean," but people are drunk, high, and gross. I wipe the seat down with a wipe. I cannot squat over the toilet like some women can. I have tried, but it just takes too much focus to relax. And if it's more than peeing, forget it!
I walk back to find Steph on the tarp with her clothes sprawled all over. "Are you packing up your stuff?" I ask.
"Yeah, I changed my mind. I started picking out what to wear, and then just decided to pack."
I know hovering would make her anxious, so I decide to make myself busy by organizing things in the car till she’s ready.
Steph puts her stuff in the car, and I grab my bag and zip up the tent. "Ugh, the tent windows are down." I turn and catch up with Steph. "But I think it's okay. It will let the tent air out."
"Yeah, it's fine. We have to walk fast to make the first show."
We are slightly behind schedule, and it takes at least ten minutes to walk up hill, across the field to the front entrance of the festival. The volunteer camp is the farthest away, but also closest to the exit of the grounds.
Our volunteer work is over, so we have all day to ourselves. We no longer have to wear our yellow, C'Roo T-shirts, which smells like a mixture of suntan lotion, sweat, and dirt. Steph and I were originally Partner Activities C'Roo, but we were both moved to Logistics and Set-up C'Roo, due to the amount of people already in Partner Activities. Our first volunteer shift was before the festival even started, which is usually a privilege for returners. New volunteers always work during-show hours, giving returners pre-show hours. They didn't need us for Logistics and Set-up because there were so many C'Roo already in the VIP section. So, we were assigned to stock supplies for the glampers in the woods, with their RV’s and their air-conditioned tents. These people weren’t your Average Joes. Some were famous sports players, and some were actors, like Christopher Mintz-Plasse (aka, McLovin). Then, after stocking the water cases, the chips, and condoms, we helped mulch the edges of the campsite to make it look nice. I hate mulching and knowing there was no shower after made it worse. But we were awarded pizza for dinner, which made me feel like I was one of the glampers—the hot pizza took away all the discomfort from the mulch.
Volunteers only have to do three, six-hour shifts, to get the deposit back. However, Steph and I only had to work two shifts! We worked mid-afternoon the next day, helping people park and bring their stuff to their tents, and then they told us we weren’t needed on our third day. Every time we volunteered, we got a $10 food token for the festival, even for our last volunteer day, when all we did was wait an hour at Headquarters, we got our tokens. Steph and I saved our tokens for hot dinners, since we had breakfast and lunch covered with the food in the trunk of the car. I even found one meal token in the grass yesterday, so with the extra, we shared Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. The festival food really helps take away that grungy feeling. Two scoops, and each bite melts in my mouth with an, “Ahh.”
The sun starts to set during the Third Eye Blind show. Steph and I are so busy going from one show to the next, we usually don't eat dinner till eight. We find some seats to eat at a picnic table, and we watch part of DAWN's show. My feet hurt so bad, not just from today, but from all week. After finishing my BBQ mac and cheese, we relax in the grass by the What Stage, which is the biggest stage—not to be confused by the Which Stage. The stage and tent names are a clever joke that someone had created for Bonnaroo—naming their stages and tents by questions you would ask when you lost your friends: This Tent, The Other Tent, That Tent, Who Stage, Which Stage, What Stage.
I sit staring up at the gray clouds of smoke that lingers over all the people, hovering around the What Stage. I got used to the amount of weed in the air after the first night. The lights from the stage reflect off the smoke as Dead & Company plays. Briefly, I see a crack of black sky, so I take a deep breath, imagining fresh air going into my lungs. Now that it is dark, the air is pretty chilly, so I put my flannel on. I share my last food token with Steph, and we eat fried-dough-doughnuts—fresh, hot, and delicious.
We walk to the flushable toilets section before we leave the festival. It’s the first year at Bonnaroo to have flushable toilets and running water, so it is a big deal for those who have come in the past…and a true gift for me, for my first year. We walk the final time, around VIP and RV campgrounds, through the campsite, down the backend of the VIP section, pass Headquarters, and to C'Roo Camping. I walk up to our tent…and something doesn’t seem right.
"Steph, I had closed our tent," I say as I push the door aside. I try to process what I had put in the car this morning. "Steph, someone took our toiletries!"
"What?!"
"My blue travel bag is gone! And they took my Ziplock bag of stuff too."
Steph looks inside. "My duffel bag is gone!"
Beard came out of his tent. "Hey, did you guys just get back?"
Steph looks at him. "Someone took our stuff."
"Did you see anyone by our tent?" I ask.
"No, I just got back. I'm sorry," he says. "What did they take?"
"They took all of our toiletries."
He laughs. "I don't mean to laugh, but they took just your toiletries. That's so weird."
I'm trying to calm down, but I can't stop thinking of everything I had in the bag.
"Ugh, by birth control was in that bag. And so were all my contacts." A brief panic rises in me. "Oh my god, my glasses!" I found them—still in the side pocket of the tent with my face cloth and hand-towel. "Few! They are here."
I can see Steph is processing things just like I am. "Oh man, they took my night guard. And all my headbands and jewelry pieces are gone!" She has collected headbands and jewelry to mark memories from all her travels, and all the music festivals she’s gone to over the years. Now, they are placed in hands who will never cherish them like she does.
Faye and the Boys come back to the tent, and Faye notices us looking around with flashlights. "What's going on?"
"Someone took all our toiletries. We have no toothbrush, or deodorant. No birth control, or contacts. And Steph doesn't have her night guard."
One of the boys exclaims, "Oh fuck, my wallet was in the tent!" He pushes their tent open. "Never mind, it's still here."
Steph asks, "Is anyone else missing anything?"
No one is missing anything around us. I slightly wish he had lost his wallet. I know it’s mean to think, but I’m dwelling over why us at the moment. Why our toiletries? Why on the last night that we are here? We had such a nice day to end on, and now, what the hell. People suck!
Faye tries to be positive. "Maybe whoever it was dumped your bags in a garbage can after they took what they wanted. You could check to see tomorrow, once people leave."
"In the meantime, you can borrow some of my toilet paper," Beard says.
"No," Steph says. "We have plenty of toilet paper in the car, but thank you."
"I'm sorry this happened to you guys. That's not a great way to end Bonnaroo," Faye says.
"If you guys want to take your mind off of it, you can chill by our tent and hangout," comments the other boy.
Steph and I stand by their tent for a bit, but I can't stand still.
"Steph, do you want to look around in the garbage cans, now?"
"Yeah, I feel like we need to do something."
We set off with our headlights, walking and looking through each set of four garbage cans, and recycling cans. I feel gross as it is, so rummaging through garbage didn't phase me too much. I focus on finding our belongings, forgetting all about how bad my feet hurt.
"Do you think they are in the showers with our stuff?" Steph asks.
We go into the girls’ room, and we find a boy and girl coming out of one of the showers.
"Someone took a dump in that shower," the girl says.
"Eww," we reply.
They proceed to go in a different shower, as we continue to look for our things. I can't imagine being hot all day and then having sex. It makes sense to do it in the shower, so you can clean off first. But, burr, there's only cold water. We head into the guys’ showers to see if anything is in there, but there’s nothing. As we approach the entrance to the volunteer camp, we walk up to one of the men directing traffic.
"Hi, our toiletries were stolen out of our tent. Is there anybody we could talk to? Or maybe somewhere we could leave our names, if they find our stuff?" I ask.
"I'm sorry, there's not much we can do. You should lock your tent when you leave. People can come and go as they please really, and with the woods over there, you never know."
Losing all hope, I walk with Steph back to our tent. "Comforting to know that there's people living in the woods by our tent who are stealing toiletries."
She comments, "It would be stupid to lock our tent too. If someone really wanted to get in, they could just cut it open."
I share my baby wipes with Steph since hers were in her duffel bag. It's now four a.m. We will only get three hours of sleep before the sun cooks us in the morning.
Being in such close quarters, it’s hard to care about privacy…and at this point, Steph and I aren’t even phased by it. I strip down and wipe all the sweat and dirt off my body. Putting on fresh underwear makes me feel like I showered. I of course have to pee again, but I refuse to go to the porta-johns now that I'm “clean.” So, I walk over to the edge of the woods in my underwear and tank. I don’t want to trudge into the woods and pee in the tall grass because I’ve seen that House episode, and I don't want to get a tick anywhere near down there. Plus, we've seen skunks wander around the edge of the woods, and it would be my luck to get sprayed right now. I look both ways for any potential passerby. Hidden in the dark, I take off my underwear and squat to pee. I've become quite good at peeing outside, but who wouldn’t, being half naked. Guys are so lucky they can aim. I use Steph's hand sanitizer—since someone took all of mine—and put my shorts on. Steph and I start to make a list on our phones of everything we have to replace when we get home.
"In actuality, we were quite lucky. It could have been a lot worse if we hadn't packed this morning," I say.
I look over at Steph's face, which is lit by her phone. She continues to type up her list and says, "It could have been a lot worse. My car key was in the duffel bag this entire time. Except today, I brought one key with us, and put the spare-key in the car."
"Oh my god, we could have come back with no way to leave."
"Well no, they would just have had the spare key…But I guess they could have found the key and drove off with the car."
"Wow, that is bad," I reply. "I'm glad they didn't take my glasses, or you would have to drive 17 hours all by yourself, and I'd be completely blind."
"Yeah, that would suck."
"I hate that they took my birth control," I complain. "They don't even need it."
"They were probably in a rush and just took what they saw. It's just weird they took our toiletries, and like they left my expensive sleeping bag and your blow-up mattresses here."
It goes quiet between us. I listen to the people outside, walking back to their tents. "Making a list of what I lost is helping me calm down," I say.
"Yeah, me too. And tomorrow we can look again when the sun is out."
I keep thinking how it's my fault. If I had only shut the windows, then they might not have known someone was inside or not. I finally fall asleep, with the comfort that Steph is just as upset as I am. It feels reassuring that I’m not being irrational alone. Yes, it is just stuff; but, in the moment of everything—the heat, the long days, the tiredness—it’s the last thing we wanted to deal with.
It's six a.m. and I am so ready to get on the road. I walk to use the porta-johns one last time. Some people have already left, and many are already packing the car. I look around to see if I can spot the duffel and/or my blue bag, but no such luck. I put my clothes on and pack the rest of my stuff in the car. I help Steph roll up and deflate her blow-up mattress, while she puts, what’s left of her things, away. We take down the tent and say bye to our neighbors.
"Do you want to drive down each aisle and see if we can't spot our stuff?" Steph asks from the passenger seat.
"Ah, people have blocked the aisles with piles of stuff to put in their cars. I think we have to say goodbye."
We drive about ten hours and turn off for a hotel. Thankfully it's connected to a restaurant and bar! We get extra toiletries from the front desk and head to the room. I let Steph shower first, as I pull out my clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Steph takes a while, but I'm planning on taking a long shower as well.
The water is so warm and nice—no egg smell. I wish I had my own shampoo and conditioner, but the hotel's is better than nothing. I feel human again! Besides the ports-johns, the lack of showering, losing our toiletries, and the constant heat, the music was an amazing experience. We walk down to the bar to order some dinner.
The bartender looks at us and the others, at the end of the bar. "Are you two backpacking across the state as well," she asks.
Apparently, the shower didn’t wash away everything. "No, we were at a music festival," Steph replies.
We order burgers and ice-cold, craft beers. "Cheers to our survival."
With the clink of our glasses, I take a sip. "Ahh! Nothing tastes better."
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