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Saturday was one of the weirdest Ren Fest experiences I've ever had, and I don't mean that in a good way.
And the Ren Fest is by definition pretty frackin' weird. An excuse to go back in time turns into an excuse to dress up as everything from a fairy to a storm trooper (there was one there Saturday), not to mention the LARPers, Goths, and endless teenagers with tails. And, no, I have no room to talk, since I go dressed as an Elf.
The other day, I found a "flesh stack" at one of the local party stores. That sounds kind of dirty or maybe gruesome, but it's just a collection of different flesh-colored grease paints. These are essential to doing up Elf ears right, and I'd misplaced mine somewhere, which is strange to the nth degree, since I never take it out of the house and don't use it for any purpose except touching up my Elf ears. Anyway. Long story short, I had my ears looking very nice Saturday and was quite pleased with myself. That satisfaction, it turns out, was short-lived.
We were going to the festival with my parents, so we drove over to their house and all got dressed and piled into the car. Dad packed a tote full of snacks, which I thought unusual but so very Dad. Turned out, it was an inspired decision. About 45 minutes on the road, driving south on I-97, we hit that bane of my life: traffic.
Ren Fest traffic.
The festival was backed up about 3 miles onto I-97. That's about 6 miles from the gate. We got into the exit lane for Crownsville and sat. And sat. And sat. None of us had had lunch yet--Bobby and I had shared an apple while doing our market rounds that morning--so we cracked into Dad's snack tote and munched on Doritos and packaged cookies and M&Ms and other things Bobby and I don't get to eat anymore except when traveling places with my parents. I may have gotten over a lot of junk food addictions (Taco Bell *ahem*) but don't know that I won't always treasure the hot and savory tingly taste of fake cheese Doritos. Yummm.
I introduced my parents to the term "special snowflake" to describe the asshats who know that they need to get into the Crownsville exit lane but drive all the way down the highway anyway and then, "Oh! Oops! I need to get over!!1!" So they stop in the middle of the highway with their blinkers on, backing up the highway for miles, and all of us who have exited on time now have to wait all the longer because they couldn't wait their turn and had to butt in line. Seriously. Did these people fail kindergarten? To say nothing of those special snowflakes--by and large in luxury vehicles further reinforcing special snowflake status--who can't be bothered to wait and so drive down the shoulder. (However, this time, there was a cop there waiting for them. Haha.)
We made it off the exit in about a half-hour and then sat on the road. There were lots of brown marmorated stinkbugs on the jersey wall that kept our attention as we sat and waited on the bridge.
A few years ago, Bobby and I were stuck in Ren Fest traffic and let a guy turn in front of us from one of the side streets. When we arrived at the festival, he told us a shortcut that he uses to bypass the last wave of traffic. He only tells it to people who let him turn in front of them as he's merging back onto the main road. So we did save some time by using that back route, but it still took more than two hours to make a journey that should have been just under one.
The festival was packed. They were parking all the way at the end of the field when we arrived. Dad has a disabled parking permit, so he was waved on ahead. This is important for later.
We were all starving, so we had lunch first--after finding the end of a picnic table and staking it out--and perused the schedule. We made up a list of shows to see, the first of which was Hack and Slash. Hack and Slash is very funny, and we'd never taken my parents, so after lunch, we headed back to Blackfriars, and Dad and Bobby got seats for all of us. And the people kept coming and coming till they were packed into the seats and standing all around us. Dad starts complaining about the heat. It was cool up our way in the morning, so we'd all brought long sleeves in case we got chilly at the festival. We didn't count on being elbow to elbow with a half-million people. Halfway through the show, Dad says he needs to get up and walk around because he's so hot, and then passes out in his seat. He didn't fall on the ground or anything dramatic, but needless to say, we didn't stay at the show any longer.
We had planned to see a joust after H&S but didn't figure it was a good idea for Dad to sit in the sun, so we just wandered. Even walking from place to place was a chore, there were so many people. (I should also mention that I loathe being in tight crowds. I start feeling malicious toward humankind when overdosed by them. And when the crowd burgeons at the Ren Fest, it never burgeons with corseted women and Goth kids with tails and storm troopers--people I want to be around--but primarily with tools.) We wandered up in the direction of the Globe, where we didn't think it'd be so crowded and hot. We got seats near the back. My ears being what they are (nice-looking in prosthetic ear tips but not very good at hearing things), I couldn't hear a word of what was being said. Mom and Bobby went to get wine and beer. They were gone for a half-hour, the queue was so long. Dad and I watched Shakespeare's Skum Jeopardy, which I knew because Bobby and I had seen it before. I couldn't actually hear what was being said. The leader of the group announced at the start, however, that this was one of the highest attendances the Ren Fest had ever had. Clearly!
Bobby and Mom came back, and we stayed for the next half-hour slot, a play called Everyfool that parodied the Everyman plays of the Middle Ages. I couldn't hear a word, but we had seats somewhere, there was a cool breeze blowing, we were out of the foot traffic, and Dad was feeling okay, so we stayed.
After that ended, we wandered back to the joust arena, since the sun was down enough that we knew half of the seats would be in the shade. We got there 45 minutes early, and all but a handful of seats were taken. We reduced the handful by four and finally got to see a show all the way through that we could actually hear.
And then we left.
But! Unbeknownst to us, the adventure had just begun. We found the car in the disabled parking section, and Dad drove to the end of the row to wait to merge into the road which was--true to our day's experience so far--backed up. Over the next two-and-a-half hours, we would move about 10 yards. We got into the car at 6 and wouldn't actually get off of the lot until after 8:30, and most of that time was spent right where we are stopped here in the story.
I still don't have a clear idea of why it took up two-and-a-half hours to move 10 yards, but for whatever reason, some brilliant individual decided to clear both of the side lots before allowing the center lot to even attempt to leave. What this meant was that some people were stuck trying to get out of the lot for more than three hours while those on the side lots simply walked up to their cars and were out in five or ten minutes. A festival parking attendant kept coming by on a bike, and eventually, Anne Arundel County police were cruising around too, but no one seemed to think it was worth letting us out of the parking lot. Eventually, people got wise and started shutting off their cars and mingling in the parking lot. We began to wish we'd brought Dad's toolbox grill; we could have tailgated and been the most popular people there! We were all hungry. The stars started to come out, so I pointed out what stars, planets, and constellations that I could find through the light pollution. Someone turned up Guns and Roses "Sweet Child of Mine" really loud, so everyone got to watch me dance in my Elf costume, and we had parking lot karaoke.
Dad was angled into the road at the end of one of the rows. Suddenly, a guy in a fancy car zipped up next to us, like he intended to cut in front of us when traffic started moving. (If traffic started moving. We were speaking in those kinds of terms now.) Special snowflake. Anyway, Special Snowflake was clearly whacked. He was screaming and cursing inside of his car and waving his arms around. We heard, "This is fucking ridiculous! And what's worse yet, I have to piss!"
It was fucking ridiculous--Special Snowflake was right about that--but really? Is that any excuse to act like a gorilla on a rampage?
He did eventually stalk off into the darkness, so we figured he was looking for a place to piss.
Then another tough guy came stomping down the road. My mom described him as "that little four-foot-eight guy." He was very small. But he had the tough guy walk, with his arms held away from his sides like he was airing his armpits and his hands in fists pummeling the air in front of him, so he clearly thought he was something worth reckoning with. "If I had a machine gun," he said, quite loudly, "I'd machine gun every motherfucker here."
Reeeally??
We would later remark that it showed how unhinged so many people are. It sucked. It really, really sucked. You're not going to hear me deny that. I am angry about it too because, obviously, the parking staff or the cops or both were either incredibly bad at managing traffic, or someone decided that we didn't deserve the basic consideration of being allowed to leave once the festival was over, despite spending well over $100 there. Not before everyone in the side lots anyway. But seriously, macho men out there. You just look like an ignorant ass when you're loudly threatening to machinegun bystanders because your special snowflake self had to wait in traffic for a few hours on a beautiful night. Or when you're throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old, pummeling your steering wheel with your fists and whining that you have to go pee-pee.
We did eventually get out. I am not writing this from a field in Crownsville. Once we finally started moving, another macho man asshat tried to ram his way in front of us with his big pickup truck. Dad didn't let him and then pissed him off all the more by letting in a young woman who politely waited to merge in. And then a big van after her.
We had intended to go home and change, then out to supper at Sunshine Grill. Not only was going home to change out, but so was Sunshine Grill; Dad called them while we were waiting in the parking lot, and they close at 10. And we'd never make it on time. So we ended up having supper at Red Brick Station, which we also really like and which is open till midnight.
At the end of the day, we spent a whole boatload of money and an even bigger boatload of time to watch one joust. And it wasn't even one of the best jousts we've seen. The whole experience has made Bobby and I reconsider going to the Ren Fest at all except in the first weeks of the season when it's still hot enough that most people except for the Ren Fest diehards stay away. Once upon a time, we went multiple times per season. Well, if they'd rather have the tools on their cell phones with their massive strollers and Kate-plus-eight haircuts who made up the majority of the people in attendance on Saturday, power to them. I don't need the Ren Fest for an excuse to dress up like an Elf.
And the Ren Fest is by definition pretty frackin' weird. An excuse to go back in time turns into an excuse to dress up as everything from a fairy to a storm trooper (there was one there Saturday), not to mention the LARPers, Goths, and endless teenagers with tails. And, no, I have no room to talk, since I go dressed as an Elf.
The other day, I found a "flesh stack" at one of the local party stores. That sounds kind of dirty or maybe gruesome, but it's just a collection of different flesh-colored grease paints. These are essential to doing up Elf ears right, and I'd misplaced mine somewhere, which is strange to the nth degree, since I never take it out of the house and don't use it for any purpose except touching up my Elf ears. Anyway. Long story short, I had my ears looking very nice Saturday and was quite pleased with myself. That satisfaction, it turns out, was short-lived.
We were going to the festival with my parents, so we drove over to their house and all got dressed and piled into the car. Dad packed a tote full of snacks, which I thought unusual but so very Dad. Turned out, it was an inspired decision. About 45 minutes on the road, driving south on I-97, we hit that bane of my life: traffic.
Ren Fest traffic.
The festival was backed up about 3 miles onto I-97. That's about 6 miles from the gate. We got into the exit lane for Crownsville and sat. And sat. And sat. None of us had had lunch yet--Bobby and I had shared an apple while doing our market rounds that morning--so we cracked into Dad's snack tote and munched on Doritos and packaged cookies and M&Ms and other things Bobby and I don't get to eat anymore except when traveling places with my parents. I may have gotten over a lot of junk food addictions (Taco Bell *ahem*) but don't know that I won't always treasure the hot and savory tingly taste of fake cheese Doritos. Yummm.
I introduced my parents to the term "special snowflake" to describe the asshats who know that they need to get into the Crownsville exit lane but drive all the way down the highway anyway and then, "Oh! Oops! I need to get over!!1!" So they stop in the middle of the highway with their blinkers on, backing up the highway for miles, and all of us who have exited on time now have to wait all the longer because they couldn't wait their turn and had to butt in line. Seriously. Did these people fail kindergarten? To say nothing of those special snowflakes--by and large in luxury vehicles further reinforcing special snowflake status--who can't be bothered to wait and so drive down the shoulder. (However, this time, there was a cop there waiting for them. Haha.)
We made it off the exit in about a half-hour and then sat on the road. There were lots of brown marmorated stinkbugs on the jersey wall that kept our attention as we sat and waited on the bridge.
A few years ago, Bobby and I were stuck in Ren Fest traffic and let a guy turn in front of us from one of the side streets. When we arrived at the festival, he told us a shortcut that he uses to bypass the last wave of traffic. He only tells it to people who let him turn in front of them as he's merging back onto the main road. So we did save some time by using that back route, but it still took more than two hours to make a journey that should have been just under one.
The festival was packed. They were parking all the way at the end of the field when we arrived. Dad has a disabled parking permit, so he was waved on ahead. This is important for later.
We were all starving, so we had lunch first--after finding the end of a picnic table and staking it out--and perused the schedule. We made up a list of shows to see, the first of which was Hack and Slash. Hack and Slash is very funny, and we'd never taken my parents, so after lunch, we headed back to Blackfriars, and Dad and Bobby got seats for all of us. And the people kept coming and coming till they were packed into the seats and standing all around us. Dad starts complaining about the heat. It was cool up our way in the morning, so we'd all brought long sleeves in case we got chilly at the festival. We didn't count on being elbow to elbow with a half-million people. Halfway through the show, Dad says he needs to get up and walk around because he's so hot, and then passes out in his seat. He didn't fall on the ground or anything dramatic, but needless to say, we didn't stay at the show any longer.
We had planned to see a joust after H&S but didn't figure it was a good idea for Dad to sit in the sun, so we just wandered. Even walking from place to place was a chore, there were so many people. (I should also mention that I loathe being in tight crowds. I start feeling malicious toward humankind when overdosed by them. And when the crowd burgeons at the Ren Fest, it never burgeons with corseted women and Goth kids with tails and storm troopers--people I want to be around--but primarily with tools.) We wandered up in the direction of the Globe, where we didn't think it'd be so crowded and hot. We got seats near the back. My ears being what they are (nice-looking in prosthetic ear tips but not very good at hearing things), I couldn't hear a word of what was being said. Mom and Bobby went to get wine and beer. They were gone for a half-hour, the queue was so long. Dad and I watched Shakespeare's Skum Jeopardy, which I knew because Bobby and I had seen it before. I couldn't actually hear what was being said. The leader of the group announced at the start, however, that this was one of the highest attendances the Ren Fest had ever had. Clearly!
Bobby and Mom came back, and we stayed for the next half-hour slot, a play called Everyfool that parodied the Everyman plays of the Middle Ages. I couldn't hear a word, but we had seats somewhere, there was a cool breeze blowing, we were out of the foot traffic, and Dad was feeling okay, so we stayed.
After that ended, we wandered back to the joust arena, since the sun was down enough that we knew half of the seats would be in the shade. We got there 45 minutes early, and all but a handful of seats were taken. We reduced the handful by four and finally got to see a show all the way through that we could actually hear.
And then we left.
But! Unbeknownst to us, the adventure had just begun. We found the car in the disabled parking section, and Dad drove to the end of the row to wait to merge into the road which was--true to our day's experience so far--backed up. Over the next two-and-a-half hours, we would move about 10 yards. We got into the car at 6 and wouldn't actually get off of the lot until after 8:30, and most of that time was spent right where we are stopped here in the story.
I still don't have a clear idea of why it took up two-and-a-half hours to move 10 yards, but for whatever reason, some brilliant individual decided to clear both of the side lots before allowing the center lot to even attempt to leave. What this meant was that some people were stuck trying to get out of the lot for more than three hours while those on the side lots simply walked up to their cars and were out in five or ten minutes. A festival parking attendant kept coming by on a bike, and eventually, Anne Arundel County police were cruising around too, but no one seemed to think it was worth letting us out of the parking lot. Eventually, people got wise and started shutting off their cars and mingling in the parking lot. We began to wish we'd brought Dad's toolbox grill; we could have tailgated and been the most popular people there! We were all hungry. The stars started to come out, so I pointed out what stars, planets, and constellations that I could find through the light pollution. Someone turned up Guns and Roses "Sweet Child of Mine" really loud, so everyone got to watch me dance in my Elf costume, and we had parking lot karaoke.
Dad was angled into the road at the end of one of the rows. Suddenly, a guy in a fancy car zipped up next to us, like he intended to cut in front of us when traffic started moving. (If traffic started moving. We were speaking in those kinds of terms now.) Special snowflake. Anyway, Special Snowflake was clearly whacked. He was screaming and cursing inside of his car and waving his arms around. We heard, "This is fucking ridiculous! And what's worse yet, I have to piss!"
It was fucking ridiculous--Special Snowflake was right about that--but really? Is that any excuse to act like a gorilla on a rampage?
He did eventually stalk off into the darkness, so we figured he was looking for a place to piss.
Then another tough guy came stomping down the road. My mom described him as "that little four-foot-eight guy." He was very small. But he had the tough guy walk, with his arms held away from his sides like he was airing his armpits and his hands in fists pummeling the air in front of him, so he clearly thought he was something worth reckoning with. "If I had a machine gun," he said, quite loudly, "I'd machine gun every motherfucker here."
Reeeally??
We would later remark that it showed how unhinged so many people are. It sucked. It really, really sucked. You're not going to hear me deny that. I am angry about it too because, obviously, the parking staff or the cops or both were either incredibly bad at managing traffic, or someone decided that we didn't deserve the basic consideration of being allowed to leave once the festival was over, despite spending well over $100 there. Not before everyone in the side lots anyway. But seriously, macho men out there. You just look like an ignorant ass when you're loudly threatening to machinegun bystanders because your special snowflake self had to wait in traffic for a few hours on a beautiful night. Or when you're throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old, pummeling your steering wheel with your fists and whining that you have to go pee-pee.
We did eventually get out. I am not writing this from a field in Crownsville. Once we finally started moving, another macho man asshat tried to ram his way in front of us with his big pickup truck. Dad didn't let him and then pissed him off all the more by letting in a young woman who politely waited to merge in. And then a big van after her.
We had intended to go home and change, then out to supper at Sunshine Grill. Not only was going home to change out, but so was Sunshine Grill; Dad called them while we were waiting in the parking lot, and they close at 10. And we'd never make it on time. So we ended up having supper at Red Brick Station, which we also really like and which is open till midnight.
At the end of the day, we spent a whole boatload of money and an even bigger boatload of time to watch one joust. And it wasn't even one of the best jousts we've seen. The whole experience has made Bobby and I reconsider going to the Ren Fest at all except in the first weeks of the season when it's still hot enough that most people except for the Ren Fest diehards stay away. Once upon a time, we went multiple times per season. Well, if they'd rather have the tools on their cell phones with their massive strollers and Kate-plus-eight haircuts who made up the majority of the people in attendance on Saturday, power to them. I don't need the Ren Fest for an excuse to dress up like an Elf.
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