Friday, 13 June 2003 | Field Day, part 2

It wasn't drizzling; it was raining. My hat soaked through and then my hair filled up with water, beads dripping off the ends of my ponytails. At the sink in the bathroom I pressed brown paper towels to my head to absorb some of the sky, but the paper only dampened and got limp, leaving my hair exactly the same. Meanwhile, Veritee and I fantasized about warm air-blowing hand dryers the way people talk about winning the lottery.

My pants were too long; they kept getting caught underneath my heels with my leg warmers, collecting small bits of the puddles I walked through. The lines were also too long; it was somewhat of a surprise if the item you'd been waiting for was still behind the counter once you got there. Throughout the venue, there was a sense that everyone had accepted the situation and had moved beyond it; I didn't hear many complaints, and the other patrons I encountered were very friendly, as well as shiny and brightly colored, and they all had cone-shaped heads. It was easy to tell the prepared from the unprepared, because the prepared were colorful and the unprepared were clear. My hooded trash bag cost $5, exactly $1 more than a cookie or a bag of peanuts and exactly the same price as an individual pizza from the local pizza monopoly.

(Part 1 | Part 3)