By Bill McEwen
One of the biggest piss-offs about going to a live concert is the line-up for beer. Not only is the average wait-time about 3 years, but the warm glass of cow urine you receive is usually subject to a 200% markup. All of us will pay it though, because unless you’re lucky enough to be passed a joint, there’s nothing worse than spending a sober 6 hours in the summer heat, struggling to see your favourite band over a crowd of drunk assholes.
A few years ago I bought last minute tickets to go see the Rolling Stones rip up the Halifax Commons. The group of guys I ended up going with told me they were going to smuggle in a 60 of vodka. Naturally, I was interested but the tickets weren’t cheap and the last thing I wanted to do was get chucked out at the door for having a mickey stuffed down my pants. I ended up refusing to go along with it – until I found out how they planned to do it.
The Commons, for those of you who don’t know, is a large greenspace smack-dab in the middle of Halifax. Surrounded by high-rise apartment buildings it contains a handful of baseball diamonds and one big fountain. It’s like a poor man’s Central Park – with way less trees.
Once the concert was announced, and before the organizers began setting up the fences around the park, a few smart people decided to bury their booze in the ground. This seemed like a good idea, until you had to find your booze under the thousands of fans that packed in to see the show. It’s also pretty difficult to hide the fact that you’re digging.
We were not in this group of ultra-intelligent pre-planning keeners. Instead, the guys that I went to the concert with had found a genius way to smuggle a shitload of vodka into the concert – right under the noses of the concert staff.
Here it is, the best way to bring booze into a concert:
The guys distributed the bottles amongst the group and, after a few drinks at my place, we headed to the show.
Excited and laughing, we were confident as we approached the gate. Two staff members stood on either side of the entrance ripping tickets and checking bags as the line slowly moved forward. I was first in line, and when I approached I presented them with my ticket.
“Thank you, Sir,” the attendant said, “and can you remove the cap off your water bottle please?”
A nervous, burning feeling flooded my body. My heart thumped in my ears.
“Sure, no problem,” I said as I began to crack the bottle. They would smell the alcohol for sure.
“Can I ask why?” I said.
By now, the group’s confidence had completely vanished. They all looked intently at what was unfolding at the front of the line – praying we wouldn’t get caught. A 60 of vodka isn’t cheap, and they sure as hell weren’t going to let us just walk away with it.
“Oh,” the attendant said, “just a precaution. ‘Dunno if you guys heard, but people threw piss-bombs at the stage during the SARS concert in Toronto. I guess that’s the last time the Rolling Stones teams up with Justin Timberlake!” she laughed.
Then I laughed.
We had made it through.
After securing some mix and some cups (which did not come cheap) we established ourselves about a piss-bottle’s throw away from the stage and proceeded to get extremely liquored.