Never Trust a Deadhead

[Squane]

For about ten years running, the Grateful Dead used to come to the Cal Expo Ampitheatre in Sacramento and play two or three shows in the spring or summer. I saw like 175 shows before Garcia died and lived in the Bay Area, about a two hour drive from Sac, but only made it out to do the Expo shows in '86 and '89. In '86, my fellow freaks and I stayed with friends but in '89 we stayed at the Sacramento Inn, across Arden Way from the Fairgrounds where the gigs were played. '89 was like the third or fourth time the Dead played the Expo, so the hotel staff knew what they were in for. The Sac Inn is a big, sprawling place with multiple two & three-storey buildings. When I booked the reservations, the clerk asked me what I was in town for and I proudly replied: "Why, the Grateful Dead, of course." That was all she needed to know and accordingly booked me into what came to be known as the "Deadhead Wing," about as far as you could get from the lobby and main building.

We pulled into town Friday afternoon and had plenty of time to do some pre-gaming in the room. I brought my Betamax VCR and the pay-per-view of the Summer Solstice show from a couple of months before, patched the A/V feeds into our room TV and rolled tape. Since we left the door open, it wasn't long before we had quite a few fellow Heads coming by to groove on the tasty jams and images from the Shoreline concert. Our neighbors from across the hall introduced themselves and figuring that my bro Kevin and I were stand-up guys, asked a favor of us:

"We're going on a beer run. Could you watch our NITROUS TANK while we're away?"

"Uhm... sure. Why not?"

Granted, it was a small tank, about the size of a SCUBA cylinder, but it was fucking FULL. Since the show was general admission, the crowd thinned out and headed across the street to the venue to get in line early, thus facilitating the possibility of getting close to Garcia. That left Kevin and I alone, sitting on the edge of our beds, staring at the nitrous tank and drooling. After what seemed like an eternity, we exchanged glances and without a word, lunged at the tank like a couple of sliding base-runners. We thus took turns taking hits directly off the valve, stumbling backwards onto our beds and flopping incoherently as the gas-induced vibrato pounded our heads into salsa. Needless to say, we managed to dust the tank, which couldn't have been completely full, or else we would have been dead, albeit grateful.

Grateful or not, our neighbors returned from their beer run and we broke the bad news. They were remarkably civil about it, not even asking for a cash reimbursement, shrugging it off with a "shit happens" attitude. Kevin and I felt so bad that the next day we went to a nearby alcohol store and bought a Coors "Party Ball" to share with our neighbors whose nitrous tank we had drained. Now I don't know if any of you fine readers remember the Coors Party Ball. It was a clever enough innovation that unfortunately never caught on and was therefore discontinued. It was a transparent sphere, filled with five gallons of Coors beer and sealed with a keg-tap. It cost us around 30 bucks and we got a shitload of ice to go with it, which we dumped underneath, around and on top of the ball in our hotel bathtub. Upon making the purchase and bringing it back to the inn, we proudly announced it to our neighbors, thinking that they would joyfully partake in the consumption of five gallons of free beer. You see, you do not need to have a phD in chemistry to realize that beer is not even remotely similar to nitrous oxide, and thus, our neighbors, while appreciating the gesture, had little more than a cup or two each. Not only is Coors crap beer, but gas was obviosly their drug of choice, and fortunately there was an abundance of nitrous vendors in the Cal Expo parking lot. So in spite of our Bogart-ing their tank, our neighbors did not have to do without their precious funny air that weekend.

The moral of the story? Obviously, it's to never trust a Deadhead with a full tank of nitrous oxide.

[Martini Time]

Never trust a Deadhead.

Truer words were never spoken.

And, of course, "Coors Party Ball™" is an oxymoron unto itself.

[happydrunk]

Well, to be fair, you don't have to be a deadhead to enjoy doing whippets. And party balls, when emptied and filled with dirt, makes a great place to grow an unhealthy plant (we named it Lester). And Shoreline is the best place to see a show, especially a Grateful Dead show, ever . . .

so the moral of the story is . .. never trust a Deadhead . .. but if you screw him over somehow, he ain't gonna do shit about it anyway.

[Mother Goose]

I would have more than 3 brain cells if I hadn't discovered nitrous (aka hippy crack) back in the day. It's evil stuff.

[BeerMakesMeSmart]

Just the other day I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac.

[Sgt. HSA]

1) Shoreline was the best place ever to see the dead...just my opinion.

2) They knew damn well that tank would be empty, if they had any brain cells left, which is a toss up at best.

3) it took you 2/5 hours to drive to Sac from the bay area ? Shit, we used to make Tahoe from there in 3.5 from there, no problem; sac was like an hour and 15 minutes.

Great story though ,man, brings back a lot of memories, most of them about the /89 shoreline shows.

[Celtic]

whaddaya call a deadhead whose girlfriend just dumped him?
homeless.

what's yellow and orange and looks great on a hippy?
fire.

what's the diff. between a trampoline & a hippy?
you take your boots off whilst jumping on the trampoline.

[Plumber]

whaddaya call a deadhead whose girlfriend just dumped him?
homeless.

what's yellow and orange and looks great on a hippy?
fire.

what's the diff. between a trampoline & a hippy?
you take your boots off whilst jumping on the trampoline.

What did Jerry Garcia say when he quit drugs?

(Clutch chest) Graaaahhhhhhhh!