My Concert Ticket

I have such fond memories of this show… juvenile delinquent that I was.

This was 1988, and I was a senior in high school. My fond memories are not because I was a fan of Van Halen. Or Scorpions, Dokken, or even Metallica, for that matter. Certainly not because I was a fan of Kingdom Come (who?!).

I do remember the thousands of Crotch-Rock fans who showed up for this bloated tour of testosterone, dubious rock and cheap beer… sporting torn-and-pegged acid-washed jeans (with Goodie™ combs in the back pocket) and high-top Reeboks.

This was an all-day, indoor event. The show started in the early afternoon, and there were no “in-and-out” priveledges. We didn’t think about this, so we spent all our money on beer before the show, intent on drinking in the parking lot before going inside (yep, around 11am).

So it’s like 118 degrees inside the Silverdome. The show takes forever and it’s not even good. Eventually our cheap-beer-buzzes wear off and we are crabby. We are sweating. We’re exhausted. And we are HUNGRY. Again: NO MONEY.

So I turn to my friends and say, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”

For those unfamiliar with the Silverdome, it’s a giant enclosed arena in Pontiac, Michigan. The Detroit Lions used to play there. There are food stands all around the circumference. I make a beeline toward the closest food stand, and lean over the saloon-door where stadium food workers enter. Nothing. So I move on to the next food stand.

Upon arrival, I lean over the saloon-doors. BINGO. I see the bright yellow apron each food worker must wear while working (along with sweet plastic gloves and little shower caps). I shove the apron under my shirt and duck into the crowd, making my way to the next food stand.

By the time I get to the next food stand, I’ve already donned the apron. Acting like I know what I’m doing, I confidently burst through the saloon-doors and walk right up to the oldest person I can find.

“We’re really slow in section 34, so they sent me down here to help. What can I do?” I ask.

“Hot dogs,” she replies, thumbing toward the back room.

I go into the back room where shower-capped losers are packing hot dogs into metallic bags as fast as they can. I smile and start stuffing pork parts. About 5 minutes later (again: HUNGRY), I turn to my co-worker.

“I’m gonna go on break. Mind if I take some dogs?”

“Hunh? Nah. Whatever.” (about what I expected).

So I lift my apron and start piling hot dogs into the fold. I think I got about 22 dogs before making a hasty retreat.

When I got back to our seats and revealed the score to my friends, they all cheered. In fact, folks who weren’t even in our group cheered. I guess that’s why I have such fond memories of 1988’s Monsters of Rock show in Detroit.