Despite living in East Tennessee, I'm not much of a country music fan. But I happened to be in New York on a business trip when Garth Brooks gave his free Central Park performance. Assuming this to be one of my only chances at a historic "I was there" experience, I went along with my friend Beth.
We never did figure out where the stage was, but there were jumbotrons everywhere, so we just settled into a spot, standing around with a million of our closest friends. Beth was singing along and I was looking around for a beer truck. What kind of outdoor concert doesn't have a beer truck--do you really expect me to sing "Friends in Low Places" without sloshing a beer around--come on! (Sidebar: before that night, I never knew rednecks existed outside of the South.)
About 3 songs in, a little red dot appeared, centered on the back of the guy in front of me. More sophisticated types might have recognized it as a laser pointer, but to my bumpkin mind, it meant one thing-we needed to get out of there in a hurry, lest we were embarking on more of a 'grassy knoll' kind of historic "I was there" event. Beth & I exchanged alarmed glances--she was with me. When we cleared the crowd, she said "do you think we might have gotten shot?"
"No," I said, "something much worse."
"What's worse than getting shot?"
"Being on national television. You know any time some tragedy happens, the media's first job is to track down the hillbilly eyewitness. And honey, that's me."
I had visions of myself plastered across ABC, NBC, CBS & CNN-with a blood splattered shirt and spinach in my teeth, saying "Yew know, we's jus' standin' thar an I saw that red dot on the boy infrunna me an' I said to my friend Beth- (high pitched voice) Beth? Yew reckon sumbody's gotta gun? And BLAM! Next thing I knowed they dun blowed his head off. I bet it was cause they don't have no beer truck."
15 minutes of fame I could do without. Thanks.
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