In 2003, a shitty Asian respiratory illness descended on Toronto, brought back by individuals travelling from China. It drove the city into a panic, hospital employees went on quarantine for days, sleeping on hospital floors away from their families and fear spread far and fast. A few people ended up dying and it sent Toronto's tourism industry into the toilet, the press coverage was extensive to say the least. Even though SARS was controlled and dealt with in a matter of a week, people weren't coming back to Toronto. The damage had been done. So in an effort to kick start tourism in the ass, a massive concert was planned for Downsview Park.
An old airbase/airport on the edges of the city's northern reaches. The Stones, AC/DC, Rush and about 30 other bands signed on for free, and the city sold roughly 500,000 tickets at about $30 a pop. It was on, people from all over set out for Toronto and being 17, I was no different. Love, Limos, Asian hookers, Crack, Rock n Roll and a Howard Johnson. This is my story...
I had heard about it like everybody else. The concert of the millennium. The Stones, The Guess Who, Rush, AC/DC. Everybody was talking about it, Toronto was only 2 hours away. Everybody was going. Everybody but me.
At the time, I was living with my old man. He made it very clear that I would not be going, and told me to not even think about it, before I even asked him. Case closed, I thought. And although I knew it was the concert of my generation, and I was the only person in Canada under 25 who wasn't going to be there, I told him I understood and planned on not going. I didn't even tell him I had already bought a ticket, there was no use.
The day of the show crept up, and people wouldn't shut up about it. I was going crazy. Tomorrow, I'll be mowing my dads lawn while the world has a shit load of fun. I tried to not think about it as much as possible, but it was everywhere, including the ticket I had never given away. It was Tuesday night at about 9 pm when I started making some phone calls. I was going. Sorry dad. The concert started in 15 hours, and I had to find a ride.
I made 20 phone calls that evening, and everyone I talked to gave me the same bullshit answer. "I squeezed into someones ride... blah, blah, blah. No room". So with presumably no ride, and less options, I called a guy I knew named Stevie. I had lots of friends, and I had lots of acquaintances, Stevie was right smack in the middle. We weren't exactly kindred spirits, but I had to start reaching. "Yeah Mote, I got a ride for ya man! My friend's dad owns a limo, and he's driving us down there. One more spot if you want it". This is what I heard, and I almost shit myself. I told him I was really grateful and asked him how much the ride was gonna be. "Free man, the Limo driver, Bernie, just fell into some cash and he's supplying the booze and weed! See you at noon". Looking back at that sentence now, I can see red flags, but at the time I didn't give a shit. I was leaving for SARSstock in 12 hours and had to get ready.
The next morning, my dad had already left for work when I stumbled into the kitchen. It was 10 am and the limo was coming in an hour. I showered, ate and scribbled out a note for my dad that went something like this "Dad, I know when you were a kid, you saw Floyd on acid. I am going to SARSstock. Be home tomorrow. Love you". I left it on the fridge and went outside to wait for my limo.
A half hour later, a stretch limo from like 1978 screeches to a stop in front of my house, purple and missing all of its hub caps. The back door opened and 5 guys get out, I only know Stevie, and he isn't even really my friend. "Screw it" I thought, "one day with these idiots". As we are loading into the back, our driver Bernie appeared from around the trunk. "HEY!! I'M BERNIE!! HOWS IT GOIN?". I stepped back, in shock of his volume and his smell. He smelled homeless. Red flag? Check. SARSstock ticket. Check. And away we went.
The next hour was spent doing shots, smoking joints and driving down the 401 to Toronto. As time passed, I became more fucked up and more excited for the show. I lost track of time. Sometime into my 6th beer, the limo came to a stop. Bernie came around and opened our door. "WE'RE HERE!" he proudly proclaimed as he started to fist pump the sky. I exited the limo, inebriated and excited to see nothing but an empty parking lot and a sign that read 'Welcome to Kitchener'. Nice Bernie, wrong city. As I realized he may not be a limo driver after all, I saw him talking to himself. I forgot about red flags for the day, and got back into the limo. Toronto was still an hour away.
We were getting close now, I began to pay attention out the windows, just in case that crazy fuck was driving to Cleveland by accident. I could see the C.N Tower on the horizon, it was only a matter of time.
This limo by the way, was a joke. The only thing that worked was the window separating the driver from the back. I found this out by pressing every button back there like a drunken child. As I pressed the 'down' button on the separating window, the glass lowered. And there was Bernie, driving a bunch of drunk, under aged kids 130 km an hour down a highway in a shitty limo. While smoking crack. I had never seen someone smoke crack before.
We rolled up at Downsview and it was a mad house, as you could imagine half a million people entering one gated area would be. We told Bernie to let us out and we'd meet him back at the hotel. Oh yeah, where was that hotel? I heard Scarborough Howard Johnson, and off we went. Alive and drunk, our crack smoking driver had got us there, and there we were. Well, in reality, we were in a collage of drunken insanity. It was hard to walk, but we forged on, and somehow managed to stay together until the gates, meeting and touching many new friends along the way.
The pat down was a joke, and I stumbled in with a 26er of rye and a half ounce of dope. Set free, into this gated zoo. We assembled near the gates and went over some ground rules. I really didn't listen because I planned on ditching them, and meeting them back at the hotel. They said some shit "Let's do this boys!" and I lit a cigarette. As we were about to set off, one of the guys said he had some ecstasy on him. I had never done it before and didn't plan on starting today. What's that saying? The plans of mice and men? I popped my first and only Ecstasy pill ever and walked into the pit.
Within 25 minutes of the pep talk I was alone. Well, alone is a relative term I suppose. I walked closer and closer to the stage. The closer I got, the denser the mass of people got. As I made my way through the rows I heard some one scream "OOOWWWW!!!" and I looked down. I saw a woman sitting on a blanket, and she did not look happy, neither did her husband. I said I was sorry for stepping on her hand and I meant it. I stuck out my hand for a hand shake, but her husband punched me in the face anyways. I stepped back, and I realized that I wasn't hurt, at all. I looked at him and he looked shocked, so did everybody around who saw this. No fucking joke, as I punched him back, 'Thunderstruck' started playing. He fell to the ground, and I started to feel the E kick in at that very moment. I ran away towards the stage, alone and laughing.
The rest of the show carried on, as witnessed by me on top of a sound trailer. As I got within 400 ft of the stage, I could go no further. It was just too dense. I managed to locate a sound trailer, and I scaled the wall of it. At about 15 ft above the crowd I had the best seats in the house. I spent the rest of the show up there, watching the throngs of naked people, smoking joints and drinking whiskey. There were about 10 people up there, and we became fast friends for a couple of hours, sharing our booze and joints.
The Stones ended the night, and had a great set, but let's just say AC/DC started the night and stole the show. I caught the last half of their set from the trailer, and as the bell wrung out for 'Hells Bells' I realized I was in the right place at the right time. A half million people swaying and jumping from 20 feet up is a sight to behold, especially when you're experiencing the affects of a chemical drug for the first time. It was widely agreed that AC/DC had the best set of the night, but I know some Rush fans who would beg to differ.
SARSstock was also famous for another thing. In an effort to broaden appeal, organizers put Justin Timberlake on the ticket. Yeah, Rush, AC/DC, The Stones, Flaming Lips and Justin Timberlake. He was booed off stage from a crescendo of 500,000 rock fans. And when Mick Jagger brought him out to preform a Stones song at the end of the night, we threw bottles and garbage at him. Welcome to Toronto, Justin.
As the show ended, I climbed down from my spot on top of the trailer. A little disoriented, and feeling great, I picked a direction and walked. 500,000 people did too and the exodus began. A great thing about the show was the fact that the subways were free all night until 5 am. My destination was the Howard Johnson in Scarborough, so away I went. The walk seemed to take forever, and I think it did because I didn't reach Downsview Subway Station until 3 am.
Scarborough is one of the more dangerous parts of Toronto, and I got off at the last Scarborough stop at about 4 am. I walked off the train and up the stairs, to the street level. Yep, there I was. Standing in the projects alone, white and high on Ecstasy still, kinda. I had no idea where this hotel was, but I managed to locate a Howard Johnson in a payphone phone book about a 30 minute walk from where I was, so I hoofed it. How I did not die on this walk, I'll never know.
I arrived at the hotel and walked up to the desk in the lobby, feeling like a bag of shit. I bet I looked even worse. I had no idea what name the room was under, so I went back out into the parking lot to make sure the limo was at least there, it wasn't. I sat down on the curb, shut my eyes and laid back onto the grass. I had no cell phone and worse yet, no one's cell number.
I was awoken an hour later in that very spot by a Howard Johnson employee. He said I wasn't allowed to sleep in the parking lot, and I agreed. I stood up and realized that while I was sleeping, someone had stolen my wallet, cigarettes and weed. With a fresh head and some anger from my apparent mugging, I walked back to that lobby desk with some determination. After phoning every Howard Johnson in Toronto (literally) I found out my friends, and their purple limo were at a Howard Johnson in Mississauga. That was only on the other side of Toronto completely. No money, and and long way back. I left for the subway.
I hopped the gates at the subway and ran onto a train, the security guard didn't put up much of a pursuit thankfully. I was on my way. I was also scared that they would go back to London without me, so I got to that Howard Johnson as quick as I could. I arrived at 11 am, 22 hours since I last saw my "friends" and the limo was still there. I figured they would be sleeping and I could get an hour of shut eye before we hit the road home. Perfect.
I walk up to the clerk at the desk and tell him my story, and mention the purple limo. "Oh, you must be Josh. They are expecting you, here is your key". Fucking right, I finally made it to a bed. As I approached the door to our room, I hear what sounds like a party inside. I open the door and there's Bernie, fucking what appears to be a 50 year old Asian prostitute on a bed as his son and the rest of my "friends" snort coke off of the T.V. stand with what appeared to be a 15 year old Asian prostitute. Oh fuck.
I am not sure exactly what I said when i walked in, but it was something like "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GUYS DOING?". Everybody stopped what they were doing, and looked at me. Stevie walked over and pulled me out side of the room.
"Listen, Bernie has $15,000 to blow here in Toronto. He pulled some job off and wants to celebrate with his son, and us. Everything is paid for dude, the drugs, the girls, everything. We are going to stay here in Toronto for a couple days to have some fun. Just relax".
Stevie had a calm tone, for someone who just railing lines off a hotel dresser. I let what he said sink in. I was broke, they were my ride. I thought of my dad, and about how mad he was going to be. "Sure Stevie" I said as I walked past the room and into the hotel pool lounge for some sleep.
I was asleep for about 15 minutes when I was awoken by the second Howard Johnson employee in the last 4 hours. Yeah, no sleeping, got it. I pulled some cushions off of the pool furniture, walked into the handicapped bathroom, locked the door and slept for around 5 hours. Another first, sleeping in a public bathroom.
I walked back to the room after my beauty sleep feeling sketchy and hungry, and hoping the hookers were gone. They were. I came in and everybody was gone except Bernie as a matter of fact. He was smoking a crack pipe on the same bed he was on hours earlier.
"Hey Bernie" I started out. "Can I borrow $10 for some food?" I felt like a tallbo (Tall homeless Man in a suit that is too small for him) saying it. He put his crack pipe down and looked through me like a zombie "Yeah Yeah" he said as he opened the drawer on the night stand in between the beds.
Inside of that drawer was a bible and what looked like a fuckload of money. He pulled out a $20 bill and gave it to me. He mumbled something, I smiled, nodded and left. I walked to the hotel restaurant and had the best breakfast of my life that afternoon. While I did that, I thought about how I could steal enough cash out of that drawer to get a Greyhound home.
The party did not stop at room 125, so I had grown accustomed to sitting on the grass out front of the hotel. And that is what I did for the rest of that entire day and night, sleeping on a lawn. At about 9 am the next day I was approached by a lady in her mid twenties. She asked me why I was out here for hours on end. When I told her the gist of my situation, she explained that she was from Buffalo and was here for the concert too and would be glad to have me sleep on her floor for the night, and that is what I did.
But first I found Stevie and asked him when the fuck we were leaving. He said Bernie hadn't been in a state to drive for 2 days and that we might be here for a couple more days. I told Stevie that what I thought of him and stumbled back to the girl from Buffalo's room, I didn't see him for another year after that.
I found her room, and more importantly her floor beside the air conditioner and passed out for almost an entire day, 18 hours or something. I didn't care. What was the worst that could happen? I had already been sleep mugged and I had nothing else to lose, including my dignity.
She woke me up the next day, with her girlfriend standing beside her. I was really disoriented, but she wasn't the only stranger I had woken up to in the last few days. "Hey man, we're leaving. Sorry but it's time for us to hit the road". I said I didn't know she was a lesbian and got up. Just like that I was back at square 1. No where to go and losing my mind. I hadn't talked to my dad in 3 days and I had only eaten once. I had seen crack and hookers for the first times in my life and wished I hadn't. I think I lost a little bit of my innocence in that Howard Johnson, and definitely lost my patience.
I walked back to room 125. I was pissed off and I was getting home today, one way or another. I opened the door and it was just Bernie again. All alone. High on crack, standing in front of the window grunting... jerking off. I was almost in shock as any normal human being would be. I closed my eyes and said as loudly as I could "You Fucking piece of shit. I am taking money out of that drawer and if you come at me, I will fucking kill you". He stopped what he was doing, and said "OK" with a creepy little smile on his face. I walked over to the drawer, keeping my eyes on him in case he attacked me (which was the hardest thing I had ever done because I am looking at a crackhead who has his dick in his hands) and grabbed a $100 bill out. I walked out of that room forever and caught a train downtown.
I bought my Greyhound ticket home and arrived back in London at 7 pm. 3 and a half days after I left. I was as close to broken as one man could be when I walked up to the front of my dad's house. I anticipated my old man tearing me a new one, taking away privileges and being really disappointed. I had never called him, and I felt terrible. I prepared myself for the ass beating that was about to come and opened the door.
My dad was sitting at the dinner table alone, eating some pork roast and potatoes when I came in. I kept my head down and walked into the dining room expecting the worst.
"So, how was it?" was the first thing that came out of my dad's mouth. I couldn't believe it.
"It was good" I said, expecting the roof to come crashing in at any moment.
"Sit down and get some pork, tell me about it".
I sat down and grabbed some potatoes. "Let's just say 'Paint it Black' was unreal live".
The End. (Of the worst 3 days of my life)
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