And every…single….time…I would get tapped on the shoulder, and some young 17ishyearold would look at me with bright, shining, pleading eyes. Sweat glistening on her forhead, she’d stare up at me, extend one finger first at me, then at herself, then up in the air. And I, trying to ignore the fact that I was touching a 17ishyearold where I…in what I like to refer to as Real Life (RL)…shouldn’t, I’d wrap my arms around her…uh…waist…and hoist her onto the tops of the multitude of people in front of me. Remember the groups of highschoolers I mentioned? Yeah. It was a floodgate. First one, then eight. After…oh what’s the word to use…what can only be considered in RL as “molesting” 35 of these girls, I lost count. I’d get a little twinge in my back and neck everytime I would feel someone launch themselves at my back. I dreaded that stupid little finger.

Don’t get me wrong, it started out being completely awesome! Wrapping my arms around 100pound girls, and summarily tossing them 50 feet into the air has a certain degree of entertainment to it. But…yeah…then I kinda began to realize that I wasn’t seeing too many Armbands around any of those wrists…and it just became…icky…

So…yeah…blue hair and red eyebrows…overall, definately worth the experience. I will not, however, go into any more detail as to exact events that transpired at said concert because, in true Road Trip fashion, what happens on The Mile, stays on The Mile. At least, not until C or D break the seal first.