Tag: Festival

Well, I did it. I worked will call at Electric Zoo on Saturday and stayed overnight in the city. Friends, believe me when I tell you that it was a fucking adventure from the minute I even considered going. This is literally a play-by-play so feel free to drop off or skip paragraphs at any time. Think of it as a short story, but either way, I just feel the need to record it.

I would totally do it again.

But not Electric Zoo. And probably not on Randall’s Island. Let me explain.

But before I do, I do want to tell you that the box office staff and the supervisors all did an amazing job in light of all the crap that was happening with the festival. They were all friendly and helpful and they deserve kudos.

Ezoo makes headlines but for the wrong reasons

I’ll just leave these here for you to view when you feel like it, but you get the point even without watching. There’s really not much more I can say except I can just imagine the lawsuits and I’ll be shocked if there is an EZOO next year. People flew in from other countries for this.

EZOO cancels Friday mere hours before gates open

EZOO starts Saturday 2 hours late

EZOO closes the gates on Sunday stating over capacity, leaving ticket holders out of luck

My Friday: Do I even go?

For reasons that aren’t that important, I decided that maybe I should just go to the festival rather than work it and stay over. I found a legit Saturday ticket for a great price and while I knew it would be a dick move to back out of working, I wasn’t really concerned with that, which is highly unusual for me. I was concerned, however, with making the person who sent me the opportunity look bad so I made sure that if I backed out that wouldn’t be the case.

But when trying to cancel my hotel room, I learned that trip insurance requires an actual doctor’s note to allow you to cancel due to sickness. Now you know too; you’re welcome. Here I was thinking that even though the room was non-refundable, I could still weasel out of it, which in retrospect was pretty dumb.

And then I saw that they cancelled the festival that day. Rumors were flying and it looked like eventually they’d announce the whole weekend was cancelled.

So I panicked (surprise!) and called my doctor’s office to see if I could get a note to cancel my hotel. Sure, it may not be that ethical, but I did say I didn’t feel well, and this is the same doctor who told me that I needed an echocardiogram because my ekg looked like I might have had a heart attack–but I shouldn’t stress, it was probably nothing more than the tech putting the electrodes in a different place than my last ekg. Where are the ethics there? Anyhow, long story short, after about a month of completely freaking out, I had the echo, my heart is absolutely fine, and she wouldn’t write the note. You win some, you lose some, and I decided that if the fest was cancelled, I would still go to the city, write in cafes while I drank cappuccino like I always dreamed, and hit up the MOMA. There was no way I was wasting the hotel room and the money used to book it.

Saturday and I’m on my way

I made the 8:20 train, iced coffee and bagel in-hand, larger-than-necessary suitcase in tow. Now, in my defense, I always overpack because you never know. And in this case, I had never worked at a festival, so I really didn’t know. Turns out I could have just brought a change of clothes and a toothbrush but live and learn.

It hadn’t totally gone smoothly up until this point because why would it? Did you know that the station ticket machines can run out of tickets? Well, we all know that now. With time to spare, I thought I was buying a round trip ticket to/from Harlem 125th Street. However, when I went to get the ticket, there was nothing there. So figuring I messed up something, I tried again. Still nothing. Some not-really-friendly young guy behind me watched it happen and still tried to buy a ticket from that machine. Guess what he didn’t get?

I tried to get help but the only person I could find was the security guard. She was nice, she looked for the tickets in the ticket slot, but ultimately couldn’t do anything other than stick an “out of order” sign on the machine. She said she’d report it to her supervisor.

When I got on the train, I explained the situation to the ticket guy and showed him the charges on my bank app. He said he’d get me to 125th but after that I’d have to reach out to MTA. Fair enough, and shoutout to that guy.

I tried to reach MTA while I was on the train, but somehow was actually reaching out to Minneapolis Transit, which happened to be closed. I didn’t find out I was reaching out to MN until this morning when I called to follow up. Anyhow, I put a dispute in with my bank and that was that. Just so you know, I only disputed one and a half rides because they did get me to Harlem. I’m brutally honest when it comes to things like that. It doesn’t always serve me well.

I relaxed after that.

When in Harlem…

First, in case you ever need to know, the station at Harlem is a full station and they do have a restroom.

Anyhow, I decided to walk to Randall’s because the footbridge wasn’t too far away, under 2 miles, and I was younger and full of hope then. It was fine, but I knew that was not a walk I would want to do alone at night (keep this in mind). I finally got to the bridge and there, right in front of me, was a huge traffic sign announcing that Electric Zoo was cancelled Sept. 2. Are you fucking kidding me?

I went to the box office group chat and saw that someone had shared a photo of that sign just minutes before. I have no idea where they went after that because they weren’t around. My supervisor had no idea, which wasn’t a surprise because she also wasn’t told they cancelled the day before until she got there. She was actually confused because she was at the box office, people were setting up, and they were doing sound check.

Right then a guy walked up to the bridge, saw the sign, and said, “fuck.” He was also wearing black so I felt like momentary kindred spirits. We decided to walk across the bridge and see what was going on. His name was Mike and it was nice to have the company and good conversation.

We’ve arrived and it’s on

We came up to what I would later learn when I worked there was the west gate. It was clear that things were a go, but they wouldn’t let us in that way. We had to walk probably another mile to the other gate. Still, me and my suitcase were doing fine, and I was ready for anything.

Anything expect that it would be another 4 hours before the festival actually opened because they pushed the start time to 3 rather from 1. So we all sat around and it became apparent that I am old, especially when I didn’t realize you can download a PDF (I9 and W2) to your notes app and made it a fillable document. That said, everyone was pretty friendly and helpful, and one girl in particular helped me with my paperwork. I had to bite my tongue to not tell her repeatedly that I am not computer illiterate in any way, and I just didn’t realize you could do that. But to be fair, it’s a really stupid way to do it and very difficult to type within the text boxes because the formatting is wonky. Why didn’t I print out the paperwork before I went, you ask? Well, I actually went to my neighbor’s and did just that. And then left it on the entertainment center at home.

(LEFT: Looking out from the East Gate box office. RIGHT: Part of the main stage with the NYC skyline in the background. I wish I had gotten this at night. It was gorgeous.)

Finally it was time to get set up and I was called to go up to the west gate with some of the others. So me and my suitcase got ready to head up. I was offered a ride on a golf cart, but not realizing just how far it was and still having energy, I declined. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t partly because of my pride.

On the way there it somehow came up that it was my first festival. I had to clarify that it was my first EDM festival and that I had worked at goth events before, including a fest, although not on the EZOO scale. One very nice and curious young man found this fascinating and said he’d never hear of goth festivals and what kind of music was it–like KISS? Bless his little heart, he was being totally genuine. I tried to list some of the bands that would qualify and if you know me, you know I am terrible on the spot. Even if I know the answers. I blurted out Combichrist and then for the life of me, couldn’t think of anything else. I then shouted Bauhaus, very proud of myself, but still feeling like a moron. The conversation moved on. #poser

Working will call

I really enjoyed it. Despite the fact that people were in line up to 3 hours (it was longer at the other gate), they were still extremely friendly and nice. They thanked us for working the box office and acknowledged that it must have sucked for us being so busy. It didn’t suck though. I thought it was fun and so out of my normal realm of experience.

One funny thing was that every time I was ready for a new person, I would raise my hand. But because I have T-Rex arms, no one saw me and security would have to wave them down.

My only complaint is that we didn’t get any breaks. I mean, if I really needed one, I could have asked, but time was flying and I kept forgetting. The supervisors were running around like maniacs keeping things going smoothly. They were supposed to serve us lunch, but that got messed up too. This was not the supervisors’ faults and they kept brining us snacks and water so we wouldn’t die. Finally, at 9:30pm, the caterers brought a pan of baked ziti. I was so happy to have food, I didn’t care that it was ice cold and you had to scoop it out with your paper plate because there were no serving utensils and two forks or a fork and a knife just didn’t cut it.

We packed up around 10:30 and by that time, I had worked almost 12 hours straight. One of the supervisors came to pick us up in a golf cart, probably because we were carrying our computers and that was a liability, and she took us on a ride through the whole festival behind-the-scenes. This was my favorite part of the whole day, and she was really fun too. This production was massive and fascinating. Soon after that, I was dismissed.

Very unfortunately, I never got to go inside the festival, and this sucks because going inside was one of the major reasons wanted to work there. If I had taken a break, I would have been able to. Or if I went to use the Porta Potties. But the directions to get to the potties confused me and there was no way in hell I was going to use one at a festival with 35,000 people. The other gate had real bathrooms, and I am talking too much about bathrooms in this post. All that said, I really enjoyed interacting with all the attendees. I probably could haven gone to dance once I was dismissed, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.

(Side note: I don’t understand rave outfits. Some of them were cute, some of them were barely there, and some of them were just plain lingerie. Why? And there seems to be a rule that the guys have to take their shirts off, but that wasn’t a huge surprise.)

You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here

Psyche! Leaving Randall’s Island was a fucking mess and my suitcase and I were there for another two hours. First I started walking with the crowd, figuring they were going to the other bridge that took you back to Manhattan. I had no idea how to get back to the Harlem bridge and my GPS wasn’t helping. I kept seeing signs for Queens and had to ask a cop if I was going in the right direction. I wasn’t. So back I went. And then still had to ask more cops how I could get back. I had not expected to be confused about that.

After getting advice form a security guy, I decided I couldn’t walk anymore and joined a whole lot of people at the bus stop. Traffic was delaying the busses and about an hour later, one finally came. It pulled up past the stop, opened its doors, let about 2 people on, and then literally drove away. All while all the rest of us were running toward it.

So we waiting some more. If anyone was willing to find the Harlem bridge with me and walk over, I was all for it at that point. I was sore and exhausted, but I just wanted to get to the hotel. I wasn’t going to do it alone but was more than willing to go with new friends.

Ater a while, the guy behind me yelled, “fuck.” Turns out an app told him the bus wasn’t coming anytime soon. So we all walked to another stop for another bus line that thankfully was very close. Why hadn’t anyone suggested that before?!

Two buses waited for us there and they let us on free of charge. They really just wanted to get the hordes of people off that island and onto the other.

On our way back, I saw a million people crossing the Harlem bridge. If I had known, and also where to find it, I could have done that and escaped much sooner. But the bus was comfortable and I wasn’t mad.

Hello, manhattan

Did you know that there aren’t any cabs in that area of Harlem? I hadn’t planned to take one anyway if I saw people heading down to the subway. And people there were!

I really wanted to take the 6 train but that has a weird schedule, and everyone was getting on the 4. So I did too. It was packed. I had to literally stand on my toes to reach the bar above the seats to hold on to something. At one point, I was able to grab a side bar when a nasty little man yelled at me, “Don’t touch my hand.” I must have brushed it as the train started back up and everyone shifted and are you fucking kidding me? I mumbled an apology thinking it was best to just ignore it. It wasn’t threatening, it was just rude.

If I had taken the 6, I would have gotten off at 51st Street so I did that on the 4. If you’re familiar with the trains, you know the 4 is the Lexington Ave line. I thought I had put in the hotel’s address (538 W 48th Street), and according to my GPS, it was a pretty short walk.

So as I dragged my suitcase up E 48th, I was surprised at the lack of people and cars. I wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t bustling. Of course it was around 1am and that’s not an area filled with bars and restaurants so in retrospect, it makes sense. I didn’t feel unsafe at all because there were some people and cars, and it’s a very nice area, but I wouldn’t suggest taking that walk if you don’t have to.

Even when I got to Times Square it was kind of quiet. Usually, no matter how many times I’ve seen it, Times Square just makes me happy. I find it beautiful. But that night, I was done. I rechecked my GPS and realized that I had only input 48th Street and when I corrected it, I still had 20 minutes to go. I found a cab.

I thought it was weird that the driver asked me to pay with cash or Venmo and he never set the meter, but he got me to the hotel by a straight route and I didn’t care if he was legit or not. I paid by Venmo. He was legit–I learned that sometimes ride shares take out cabs that aren’t being used. What a learning experience this had been!

I love You, Hotel

My room was tiny but very clean and comfortable. I was a little worried when I got there because there was a guy trying to sort out an issue with a room and a girl on the verge of throwing up on the couch. Again, not threatening and we have all been there! I was more upset that I had to wait because I really just wanted to go to bed. And finally, around 2am, it was my turn to check-in.

Look, more bathroom talk!

Oh hi, sunday, you came quick

By the time I got to the hotel, I had decided I wasn’t going back to EZOO. I was done. I felt bad and I think it was because the trip back to the hotel was just so long and involved walking, a bus, a train, and a cab. Oh my!

After missing the complimentary breakfast, I tried to shower. I actually had to Google how to turn on the shower because there was no lever to pull. Here is the video in case you are even in that situation. If I was paying attention when I checked in, I would have noticed there was an actual model of the tub spout with instructions on how to use the shower right there on the counter.

I decided I would make the most of being in NYC for the morning and with suitcase in one hand (it did roll) and terrible room-made coffee in the other, I headed toward Times Square. A man who I thought was Steve from SITC smiled at me and said hello. He was not Steve. He asked if I was running away from home, but not in a creepy way, and I responded that I was actually running to home this time. We chatted for a moment, and he wished me a safe trip.

Steve from Sex in the City.

At that point, my body decided we needed a cab and to go straight to Grand Central. Of course, nothing is that easy and when I went to buy another ticket to get home, the machine told me that my purchase was not authorized, and I should call my bank. I figured it was because I had a dispute in with that company.

Then I panicked. For whatever reason for the first time ever, I didn’t have a credit card on me and I thought maybe my whole account was frozen, although I had just used it for a cab. How was I going to get home? I was, however, able to buy a ticket online and even get a vegan bagel sandwich (called The Hot and Heavy for some reason) and iced coffee before hopping on the 11:34 train.

As we passed the 125th Street station, I considered getting off and going to work. But then I remembered the walk and the getting out of there, and I decided to nap instead.

I slept the rest of the day and most of Monday.

Let’s face it, i’m old

You can say age is just a number all you want, but frankly, that’s just not true.

Everyone was so young at the festival, which is not unexpected. I totally stuck out, but once the crowds came in, it didn’t bother me. I am in shock at how nice those kids were. Some asked my name, many thanked me, even more commented on my tattoos. They were just friendly even after their 3-hour wait. That’s not to say there weren’t any problem people, I was just lucky enough not to get any.

I’m kind of mad at myself for not going back. I did enjoy working and had I gone Saturday, I probably would have been able to actually spend some time in the festival. But my body just wouldn’t allow it. And really, it’s on me for being cheap and picking a hotel so far away. And for thinking that you can take a subway to pretty much any block in Manhattan. You can’t. But really, when it comes to festivals and hanging out with kids in their 20s, those days are over.

The moral of the story is…

There is no moral. I got out of my comfort zone and did something I really wanted to do. I’m really glad I did.

Would I do it again? Maybe.

Would I do it again on Randall’s Island? Not likely.

Do I still want to go to EDC? Absolutely, but only for a day and as an attendee.

Did it take me hours to write this? Sure did and now I’m going to bed. If there are typos, so be it. I’m exhausted.

Good night, y’all!