ahh Jimmy Buffett.
One might say I’ve become a Parrot Head, which happens to be the popular opinion of my family and friends at least. I had always been familiar with Jimmy’s music and persona, ever since my high school days. But it wasn’t until around October ’97 that a small group of friends introduced me to the Irvine Meadows parking lot. My first encounter with mobile tiki bars, grass hula skirts, girls flashing (at a level only outdone by Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras), then concluded by a concert that left me wanting more of Summer. I was hooked.
Year after year Jimmy’s tour stop became my own Boys Night Out, I eagerly awaited Jimmy’s return to Orange County. Each trip involved an expansion in the circle of friends to whom I’d have the pleasure of introducing to Margaritaville. Nah, it didn’t take much effort for me to act as an ambassador. The parking lot before Jimmy’s show had become something I planned months ahead for.
It was such a night on April 07, 2005 that I intended to subject a newbie into the party. Jim (my father-in-law) was making his first trek, along with veterans Todd (my brother-in-law), and Todd’s buddy Dave.
Let it be known, I was not too pleased that this year’s romp was staged at the Arrowhead Pond of Anaheim, rather than Irvine Meadows. It was my perception that Anaheim would squelch any falderals that are found to be the norm just sixteen miles to the south. Perhaps this weighed on my mind, as I attempted to show Jim that the stories of “changes in latitude, changes in attitude” weren’t really imagined. I found myself forcing situations, trying to orchestrate things, becoming stressed by the lack of enthusiasm displayed from concert goers during the tailgate. Looking back I sure needed to slip on some flip flops and just enjoy the night, but I couldn’t. As I was in the position to play host, it was decided early on that I would be the designated driver. It was not any disappointment to pass up on any of the alcohol, but I sure was disappointed that the tailgate was a flop.
Inside the concert the music flowed well throughout that night. Jimmy and the Coral Reefer Band magically transported everyone into the trade winds. With the exception of moi. My knees hurt from our tight seats, my shirt stunk from sweating, and I don’t love Jimmy – not tonight. Honestly I paid little attention to the show. Better stated, I just could not get into the fun. My thoughts centered on how much I tried in vain to make sure Jim and the guys enjoyed themselves. Hence the sickly feeling that enveloped me, plaguing me throughout the show. When the concert finally ended, I wasn’t sure if I needed to apologize to the guys for the lousy night, or just keep my mouth shut in fear I’d puke on them from how worked up I made myself.
We said our goodbyes, and went our ways home. Driving alone, well past midnight, I became hungry. Knowing I had my last chance to eat junk before my Boys Night Out morphed back into reality – I stopped off at Del Taco. Munched down a Macho Burrito, washed down by a Coke – the hot sauce boldly stepped forward to announce; dude you’re going to pay for this!
Ugh, I’ll just sleep this off. Once home I crawled into bed, percolating as I fell into an uneasy slumber – burp after burp. The next morning I felt awful, just wanted to pull the covers tighter over my head. Naturally “home life” wasn’t playing that, and I was summoned out of bed to join the already busy day. I so wanted to pray to the porcelain god.
Kristi, my wife, had already signed up enthusiastically to what the day had in store. Things to do, yada yada. But I was feeling off, more than at any time I’ve ever recall. So much so that I suggested to Kristi that I go to the hospital. Now I’m not adverse to doctors, but I wouldn’t consider myself someone that would gleefully seek out medical attention, especially for the stomach ache. Kristi’s thinking was to be expected, so how much did Jeff drink?
But not a drop of alcohol did I take. Was I to confess to the late night meal? Oh yeah, that was it – gotta come clean. Boom, the memory of the chips, salsa, dip, sandwiches set out in the sun during yesterday’s tailgate suddenly appeared. Perhaps guys being guys, just maybe we let the sour cream sit too long? Ugh I did not feel good. Food poisoning! Get ready for the stomach pump! Never again eat tailgate grub, followed by a Del Taco chaser! Ugh
From what I can recollect, the events rolled out like this… I threw on some sweat pants, and a t-shirt, don’t know about shoes. Must have had shoes, how else was I to walk into the hospital? Yup, I have my wallet containing medical and credit cards, don’t leave home without it – stupid commercials. Kristi was none too happy about having to schlep me to see a doctor over a bad hang-over. Kristi drove while I felt every pothole, every bump, and every shift right to left. The local community hospital was a short drive from our house. Time lapsed, and I remember begging Kristi just to let me out of the car, now that I recognized that we were on the perimeter road of the hospital. But nope, she wanted to find a parking space. Ugh I don’t feel good.
Somehow, not sure how it transpired, but I was let out of the car. I think Kristi said she would park, and then meet me inside the ER receiving room. The waiting room had a few, not many, seats available for me to attempt to write my life history. From a stack of papers attached to a clip board, I started to fill out the information just as the receptionist had asked. At some point Kristi takes the papers from my hands. I end up in the corner of the room chin down hovering next to a trash receptacle, one with a swinging lid.
Oh I don’t want to puke in front of these sick people. How long does it take to see someone? A nurse, a doctor, anyone will do to insert a tube down my throat and turn the vacuum on?!? I’m ready. Let’s get this going. Flash to a small room painted in what once was white, now faded to a yellowish tint by age. Even the privacy curtains have that yellowish white color – they must be old too. I’m lying upon a small bed, maybe a cot? Kristi is there, it sounds like she is saying something to me. I can’t understand what she is talking about, but it sure is soothing. One thing for sure, she still looks peeved. Probably still upset at me for having messed up her plans today. A huge sense of guilt hits me. My memory is foggy at this point. I think maybe I’m telling her thanks for doing all this for me; I really appreciate what she is putting up with.
I scan my wobbly head around the room to see what there is to see. My head is beside a wash basin attached to the wall, you know those medical sinks with the funny handles so doctors can scrub without getting cooties on their hands. From below, I see drops of water originating from the threads of the drain elbow. Drip drip. Oh no, I see Kristi’s purse on the ground, very close to a small puddle that is quickly forming. Again a sense of guilt hits me; I’m the reason why Kristi’s purse is getting soaked.“Hey Kristi” I mumble, “You had better move your purse, because the sink is leaking near it.”
Fade to silence, enter blackness – I am out.
To be continued…
The posts on this blog are provided ‘as is’ with no warranties and confer no rights. The opinions expressed on this site are my own and do not necessarily represent those of my employer. © 2011, Jeff Brunn
