When I was about seven or eight, my mom and I went to pick up tickets for a Grateful Dead concert. Before Jerry Garcia left to go to rehab and die. I remember it all too well, she was buying two for her and her boyfriend; and two for her brothers, one for an older cousin of mine. Not his daughter but my grandma's brother's. I guess that would make her my second cousin.
While standing in one of the long ass lines, a guy who had been chatting with my mom and had given me a magnet. Then the magnet was confiscated by my mom immediately. He then did the right thing seeing her upset having given me something possibly dangerous and informed her he was a undercover cop, which she told me later after getting the tickets when she gave the magnet back. As we were leaving he screamed out this hideous LSD slang proposition that sounded like a pig farmer calling his stock, it went something like "ScooWEEEee".
When my mom gave my uncle and cousin the tickets, she warned them of the same thing she did me; deadheads like to slip acid to the unaware.
That night at the concert my cousin had mustard on her hot dog, and 40 minutes later she was having the time of her life.
I have a magnet that hangs on my refrigerator.
July 6, 2008 | March 31,2009