Boxed Wine, Whippets, and a Reggae Festival Disaster

It was July 12, 1992, at the University of Maryland, and none of us had work that day because it was a Sunday. I was hanging out in my Knox Box apartment with my girlfriend and my buddy, Pat, and someone suggested going to a reggae festival.

The 1992 Reggae Sunsplash tour was at the Merriweather Post Pavilion for the day, so we decided to head over for some Irie vibes in the sunshine.

There was a mostly full box of Franzia White Zinfandel in the fridge, so we grabbed it and a few red Solo cups and headed out to the festival. It was $20 to get in, and we figured we’d pre-game with our boxed wine and then fork over the money to chill on the lawn and feel the music.

When we got to the parking lot, it was a big party, and after we made our way through our box of white zinfandel, we wandered around to see what was going on. The crowd reminded me of a Grateful Dead show, with all sorts of cool stuff for sale and lots of music, dancing, and smiling.

Then we heard it… the familiar sound of balloons being filled up. We wandered over to see some guys selling brightly colored balloons filled with nitrous oxide (N?O) for $3 each.

None of us had tried nitrous balloons before, but we were curious after watching people sucking in the gas, so we each got one. It was fun, but it was short, so we each got another one.

We continued this balloon party until we’d spent all of the money we brought… enough for a festival ticket and a couple of drinks each.

By the time the effects of the final balloon went away, we were still wine-buzzed and headed over to the gate to listen to the music from there. It was ok for a few songs, but we really wanted to be inside.

So, we came up with a plan to sneak in. The concert venue was surrounded by a chain-link fence that wasn’t much different from the fences I’d grown up climbing as a kid, so we decided to space out and make a run for he fence, jump over, and mix in with the crowd on the lawn.

The liquid courage had us all primed, and when we nodded to each other to start the sprint, we took off. I was impressed with myself and how cleanly I made it across, and then I took off my shirt and blended in with the other concertgoers.

As I caught my breath, I looked around for the rest of the crew, and they were being given a talking-to on the other side of the fence. Neither of them made it safely over, so I figured I’d sweet-talk the security into letting them in.

I walked over with a swagger while Pat looked at me and subtly shook his head no. Undeterred, I kept at it until I reached the fence and explained that the two of them were already at the concert, but they had to run out to the car to get some medicine.

Then I waited for security to accept my story and let them through. Except that didn’t happen. Instead, I got bounced out of the concert, and we were told to leave the premises immediately.

With our heads hung low, we walked away, grateful not to be arrested for our goofy breach attempt, and relaxed a while away from the fence so they couldn’t see us. We could still sort of hear the music, so we settled for that.

Also, being responsible college students, we needed to kill some time, so it was safe to drive back to school.

We were feeling good by the time Aswad hit the stage, and we headed back to the car as we heard “Don’t Turn Around” drifting through the night sky. I guess we sort of accomplished our goal, since we had a good time, heard lots of music, and got some sun.

The next summer, I was back at Merriweather Post Pavilion for UB40 and the Gin Blossoms. This time I’d gotten tickets in advance, stayed away from the balloons, and had a different kind of great night.

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