Things that annoy me, chapter IV

Head injuries. Especially the ones that require stitches.

It's my own damn fault I know. But in a way, I'm proud of it - sort of a battle scar or red badge of courage type thing. Except that this was more of a red badge of drunken idiocy.

I started a mosh pit. At a Buckcherry concert. There would have been a mosh pit at this show anyway had the headliner band, Avenged Sevenfold, not come down with 'vocal strain' and cancelled a month of shows per a doctor's orders. But as it was, I was doubtful that there would be a pit at all. Buckcherry, Shinedown, and Saving Abel aren't exactly mosh-pit-inducing bands.

But, as with most rock shows I attend, I came to mosh and I was going to mosh. This was made certain when my 16 year old cousin, Kayleigh, offered to help me start a pit.

So a few minutes before Buckcherry took the stage, we worked our way to the front and in my drunken deafness, I yelled at everyone I thought looked like a fellow mosher and told them I was starting a pit and they better join in. I also insisted the pit-squelchers move away, much to the chagrin of the security people between me and the stage.

A few minutes later the band took stage and the shoving began. It was a clean pit - nobody was throwing elbows or fists and if you fell, you were picked up instantly. At some point, I must have fallen into someone's knee or elbow or head - something hard. I wouldn't have even taken note of it had I not felt something warm and wet running over my eye. When I touched my face, I realized I was bleeding - profusely. Someone in the crowd noticed too and immediately helped me through the pit's perimeter, through the crowd and into the waiting attention of an event staffer. I was rushed to the curtained-off room stage right where the paramedics were waiting to treat the all-too-common injuries of mosh-pitters.

They said it was a pretty decent gash and told me I need to see a doctor. Intent on seeing the rest of the show, I asked if I could stay for a bit and swing by an emergency room later. They figured I'd be fine for an hour or so and wrapped me up in an Arab-looking headress while the security lady asked if my injury was inflicted by anyone intentionally. After assuring her it was indeed a clean pit, they led me back out into the crowd where I was met with many shaking heads and finally rejoined my friends who proceeded to tell me what a dumbass I was.

In my drunken stupor I decided to wait until morning to get stitched up. After five stitches and a berating by the jackass doctor for waiting so long, I was on my way with a great story to tell the folks at work. It was stupid, I know; but dammit, I earned this inch-long scar above my eyebrow and I'll wear it with pride as a testament to the days when I still young enough to do stupid shit like start a mosh pit at a Buckcherry concert.

I wonder if I made Youtube.