The Pit

Pits come in a variety of size and location options. Famous pits immortalized on screens, the big ones and the television ones, include but are not limited to: the rabbit hole-ish pit Alice tumbled into catapulting her to Wonderland, the pit of horrors from Silence of the Lambs where Catherine is instructed to rub the lotion on the skin, the NASCAR pit from Talladega Nights where young Ricky Bobby gets his start in the racing world, and the boiler pit on Days of Our Lives circa 1992 where Stella trapped Dr. Marlena Evans for an entire summer, keeping her alive by feeding her vermin and making pitiful faces that can only be shown on soap operas cutting to a commercial break. Pits are never good. Hence, the expression, “This is the pits.” That should’ve been my first clue. After two months of pneumonia, I needed something to look forward to. In steps my husband. “Honey, we have that concert coming up. Did you forget? We booked a hotel and everything, right?” Ah, yes! Tickets to see the Kentucky poet himself, Tyler Childers. If you don’t know Tyler, you owe it to humanity to watch him sing on YouTube. Start out with “Shake the Frost.” Follow that with “Follow You to Virgie.” End with “Lovely Lady May.” You’re welcome. He’s part Bob Dylan with a big dose of coal miner, seasoned with a little Hank Sr. There’s a yodel and a yearning in his voice that will break your heart and give you hope at the same time. “Now I ain’t the toughest hickory that your axe has ever felt/But I’m a hickory just as well/Yeah I’m a hickory just the same/I came crashing through the forest /As you cut my roots away/And I fell a good long ways/For my lovely Lady May.” We’d had the tickets for months. My excitement started building. One evening, as we were discussing when we would check into our Irving hotel and where we might eat and all the fun we might have, my husband pulled up the digital tickets to proudly show me our amazing seats. That was glitch #1…. turns out we were in the pit.

I am not a fan of the unknown. I dislike things such as highways, one-way streets, mix masters, parallel parking situations, and complicated parking lots. There are too many variables associated. Infinity things can go wrong. To combat this, I go early, like, really early. One never knows if one will need time to circle a block 27 times, miss a crucial exit, encounter a road closure, unsuspectingly drive through a police manhunt, or unknowingly turn a corner into a time portal. You can never be too careful. Don’t even get me started on quicksand. I think I read Robinson Crusoe too many times as a kid. I really thought quicksand was going to be way more of an issue as an adult. My husband knows these things about me. So, like a complete gentleman, he got us to our hotel before our room was even ready, leaving me plenty of time to decompress, adjust, and most importantly, eat. Good decisions never happen on an empty stomach. The weather was adding an additional layer of intensity. My meteorology skills are lacking, but caps were breaking, and storms were a poppin. No worries. We made it to the venue and sat on a covered patio eating pizza while the concert goers began arriving. The rain poured. Then, just as we began our approach to the ticket line, clouds parted, and the sun came out to play. Perfection! We’d never been to this location. Everything was a bit confusing. We found the merch line, found the adult beverage line, found the dreaded pit, and found ourselves in a great mood. Everything had worked out. Oh, the best laid plans of mice and concert goers.

Things became apparent quickly. This pit scenario was not for people commonly addressed as grandma and grandpa. Here is a string of descriptive words and phrases so you can feel like you are there with me in the moment: hot, stinky, fake Polo cologne, pushing, achy feet, cramping lower back, people cursing, more people cursing, lots of very young people looking for their friends, more pushing, way too much bronzer, way too much highlighter, invasion of personal breathing space, involuntary swaying, slight claustrophobia. The opening act began. I could no longer see the stage. Actually, I wasn’t sure if I was even facing in the right direction at that point. My husband left to find a restroom. I attempted to spread my legs apart to hold a spot for his return, but the void he left was quickly absorbed like cookies baking too close together on a cookie sheet. My phone vibrated. “I can’t find you. I am at the back of the pit. Follow the black line under your left foot. You can see the stage from back here.” 10 minutes and 72 excuse me pleases later; I see mister handsome’s cowboy hat. He was right. I could do all the things like see the stage, breathe, and squat down to alleviate my back pain. Just like that, I saw one of the best concerts of my almost 56 years. Right before the acoustic set, mister handsome whispered words in my ear that absolutely made my toes curl. “Hey, honey, there’s a wall 10 feet behind us. We could lean our backs against it.” Gotta love a sweet talkin man.

Sure, there was a 2-hour storm delay in the equation. Yes, we had to walk 10 minutes back to our hotel in ankle deep water with the rain pouring from our cowboy hats. Okay, so what if it set me back on my pneumonia recovery. This may have been my last concert experience. I’m not cut out for that life anymore. But I know one thing. I’m not the toughest hickory your axe has ever felt, but I’m a hickory just as well. Thank you, Mr. Childers.