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You know how festivals always boast about their diverse food options? Yeah, diverse if you consider different variations of fried dough and mystery meat on a stick as diverse. I swear, eating at a festival is like playing a game of food roulette. I decided to try something exotic, so I went for this dish that was advertised as "international street food." Turns out, the only thing international about it was the stomach ache it gave me. I asked the vendor where it was from, and he said, "Oh, you know, it's a fusion of flavors from around the world." Translation: We threw in everything we had left in the fridge.
And then there are the portion sizes. I ordered what I thought was a reasonable amount of food, and they handed me a plate that could have fed a family of four for a week. I felt like I was on an episode of a food challenge show. "Congratulations, you've got 15 minutes to finish this giant turkey leg before the porta-potty line becomes longer than the Great Wall of China.
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You ever been to a festival? You know, those places where you pay a small fortune to stand in line for hours, just to use a porta-potty that's seen better days? I went to one recently, and I swear, the only thing that was truly "festive" was the chaos. I'm waiting in line for food, and I see this guy in front of me with a plate stacked so high with festival cuisine that I thought he was auditioning for a balancing act in the circus. He turns to me and says, "It's all about strategy, my friend." Strategy? It looked like he raided the entire food truck.
Then there's the music. Don't get me wrong; I love live music. But there's always that one band at a festival that's convinced they've invented a new genre. I saw a group that described their sound as "psychedelic folk-fusion with a hint of polka." I'm pretty sure they just made that up to cover for the fact that they can't decide on a genre.
And don't even get me started on the festival fashion. I saw people wearing outfits that seemed like they were designed by a committee of blindfolded toddlers. Neon tutus, glitter beards, and hats that defy the laws of physics. I'm just trying to enjoy the music, not audition for a part in a circus sideshow.
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Let's talk about the porta-potties at festivals. Now, I don't know who designed these things, but they clearly never had to use one. It's like a horror movie in there. I walk in, and the smell hits me like a punch to the face. I feel like I need a hazmat suit just to take care of business. And the toilet paper? Might as well be sandpaper. I don't know if they're trying to save money or if they just hate our collective butts, but it's like wiping with a Brillo pad. I've considered bringing my own TP, but then I'd have to explain to security why I'm carrying around a backpack full of Charmin.
And the worst part? The lack of privacy. You're in there, doing your business, and you can hear a whole symphony of bodily functions from the neighboring stalls. It's like a twisted form of bathroom karaoke. I just want to get in and out without feeling like I've stumbled into the world's weirdest concert.
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Camping at a festival, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Well, let me tell you, pitching a tent should not be part of anyone's idea of fun. I'm out there in the dark, fumbling with tent poles like I'm trying to solve a Rubik's Cube blindfolded. And the instructions? Might as well be written in ancient hieroglyphics. Once you finally manage to set up the tent, you realize that you're basically sleeping on a glorified yoga mat. I swear, I've slept on comfier rocks. I don't know who came up with the idea that roughing it in the great outdoors involves sacrificing a good night's sleep.
And don't even get me started on the wildlife. I woke up one morning to find a raccoon rummaging through our cooler like it was Black Friday at the supermarket. I tried to shoo it away, and it just looked at me like, "Excuse me, sir, I believe I reserved this spot for breakfast.
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