We were able to find everybody and connect for the pre-show fiesta in the lot. The night began with an inauspicious start as my traveling companion Tom got way too wasted and began screaming at all of us over where we were sitting. It was embarrassing, but I didn’t let it ruin my night. Anyway, I think he went off somewhere and passed out.

Fast forward to the second set. My friend Lauren and I were really getting into the show, dancing and getting into the groove, when Phish launched into a particularly wicked First Tube. We screamed, jumped, danced, making quite a spectacle. At this time a couple approached us from behind. I felt a tap on my shoulder, so I turned around. A gentleman asked me, “Are y’all really big Phish phans?” “Like, duh,” I thought to myself, but I kept my sarcasm bottled upstairs as I figured it might be going somewhere. 

“The biggest,” I responded, knowing that multitudes of Phishheads worldwide would disagree. The man then said, “Well, we were given these, but we’re not going to stay for the entire show. Do you want them?” He revealed two backstage passes.

Oh, my God. Dude, wake up.  “Yes! Please!” I spit out sometime later, probably just before he gave up on waiting for me to shake off my retarded facial expression of disbelief and accept. “Holy crap, am I tripping?” Lauren exclaimed. “Yes, you are,” was my response, “but this is really happening.” He then handed them to me and disappeared. In the distance before he arrived at the gate, I thought I saw him sprout wings and don a halo, and sail back to heaven.

This was my dream come true. A chance to meet my idols! My musical heroes! What would I say to them! The rest of the show didn’t matter.  During the encore of Halley’s Comet> Tweezer Reprise, Lauren and I began making our way to the stage. I put my backstage pass on. Everybody had to know that I had something they probably didn’t. Little attention did I pay to the drizzle that had begun.

We arrived at the backstage door, and got in line. There was a security guard at the door, a rather buff woman with a Michael Bolton-like mullet. She began to let people in. She let Lauren in, than told me to step aside. The “RA” written on the backstage pass was not permanent. It had smeared. Lauren looked at me from inside, and I motioned for her to go ahead. I explained to the nice security guard lady that there was an “RA” on the pass but it had smeared. “Just wait here,” she told me. “Okay, no problem,” I thought to myself. 

I watched everybody go in, including a slew of attractive women who were not cast from the Phish phan mold. I thought, “Hey, this means more to me than to them. I’d better get in.” I watched the last person walk in. Then, with the swiftness of Jackie Chan, then mullet-headed witch security slime woman reached out and snatched the pass right off my torso. “You’re not letting me in?!” I asked/whined. “ Sorry, we have strict orders,” was her only reply. “Well can I at least keep it for a souvenir?”

The door slammed shut in my face. As it closed, she looked me in the eye, and, although it could have been the lighting, her eyes were glowing red.  This wasn’t happening. Mentally, I sank to a low, which was the antithesis of the elation I felt only an hour ago. I began to walk away. This wasn’t happening. So close. I couldn’t just let it go. I complained to everybody who was still there. Loudly. 

Then, I approached one phan at the gate, and started to tell him my tale. “Yeah,” he interrupted, “I heard you talking about that. You’re not missing much, usually it’s just a glass of keg beer. And the only person back there is Mike, and he just looks at you like you’re stupid.” 

I thanked him for the advice, but this was no solace for me. There was a party in there, I imagined, with autographs and champagne and I wasn’t in there. But I could have been, had some dumbass not worn his pass in the rain. I walked out to my Jeep, and waited for Lauren to come out. Which she did, about thirty minutes later. I asked her to tell me what I’d missed. I had to know.

“Not much,” she responded. “Just a keg beer and Mike looking at everybody like they were stupid.”  Still, it was a long, dark, ride back to Atlanta.

 - Brian