Southern Thunder Monster Truck Shootout

A few weeks ago, Cash and I went to the Southern Thunder Monster Truck Shootout in Fletcher at the Western North Carolina Agricultural Center. I'm just blogging about it now because I got wicked sick the following day and spent a week and a half wishing the pleasant peace of death would wash me over. It derailed me from the discipline I was establishing of posting fairly regular sub-par blog posts. I apologize to my faithful seven followers who trust me to produce my mediocrity with a slight hint of regularity. To those who read me in the shadows of anonymity I can only ask, can silence befall a voice crying out in the wilderness?

Well...let me attempt to reestablish the discipline...The monster truck shootout...It seems like a lifetime ago...

As Cash and I approached the arena they had two little booths off to the side where you could purchase tickets on the spot for $20. It was evening and it was already dark outside. One booth had lights on and two white people working inside it with a small line in front of it. The other booth was pitch black inside and appeared to be abandoned. I thought I saw some movement inside it though and noticed that there were two black women inside, waiting in the dark, to collect money and distribute tickets as well. I walked right up to the booth and avoided the line at the other station. Cash did the same. As I walked off I thought it was strange that they were straining to see and work in a pitch black booth. I then realized though that the flood of people flowing into the agricultural center were all Southern white folks with plenty of camouflage on. I was hit with a strange feeling. Did those women turn their light off to make their night easier...were they hiding...or were they put in a pitch black booth at an all white function out of some sort of "agenda"? I shook it off and joined the sea of Caucasians entering the building.

Seeing the dirt covered arena with several huge monster trucks parked around it and lines of cars waiting to be crushed was a bit of a thrill. This was my first monster truck event. The building was a bit smaller than I expected with a ceiling far lower than I imagined. It was definitely an agricultural center and not a sports complex or a civic center. The seating was quickly filling up as we gathered in this modern day Coliseum, ready to see rolling gladiators crush any poor sedan that came across their path. It was ancient Rome meets the modern day Confederate States of America. Cash and I found some decent seats and settled in for the action.

As we waited for the action to start I noticed vendors walking around with sticks of hanging earphones where one would normally see bales of cotton candy. I knew instinctually that I was too cool for this, but began looking around to see who was wearing them. It seemed that every child under seven was wearing a pair. I guess the parents just knew the protocol. Good idea, I thought. Protect the little ones' sensitive, developing eardrums. Moments later all the monster trucks began to turn on their vehicles and rev their engines in unison. I was hit with a wave of sound like I've never experienced before. It was like I had stuck my head in a jet engine. Everything in my head began to vibrate and I felt panicky like a mouse in a cage next to a radio that's been turned on to full blasts. I quickly scanned the arena to see if I could find any adults wearing the earphones. Not a one. Dare I take the plunge and be the only non-toddler wearing a pair? I love my hearing. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Don't stick your fingers in your ears. Be cool. Be cool. You are cool. Hearing is overrated.

Throughout the course of the evening I never got use to decibels. I did my best to enjoy the show at hand, but I relished the moments when the trucks stopped. I felt like the panicked mouse for 75% of the proceedings. I couldn't stop thinking that this was meant for a larger arena like a civic center and that we were destroying ourselves by bringing something to town that was bigger than us. Why was I the only one bothered by this?

If the noise wasn't bad enough, the little arena began filling with car fumes and exhaust. We were leaving one hell of a carbon footprint. We were bathing in one hell of a carbon footprint. There were no vendors with sticks of gas masks or surgeon masks. I became equally worried about my health and future prospects of cancer as I was about my hearing loss.

If you have a chance to see a monster truck show in a large arena I would recommend it, but make sure it's a big venue. If it's not, bring earplugs from home for the sound and take two Klonopin before hand so that you're not worried about the fumes.

What did I learn?: If you spend two hours in a state of controlled panic, under heavy audible stress, while sucking an exhaust pipe, you will get very, very sick; your writing discipline will take a blow, and you will struggle to re-assume your online presence.

"Well ladies, the second booth doesn't have any lights so if you want you can carry around headphones during the event and sell them. We should be fine with just one ticket booth."

"Hell to the no, nigga. My black ass is selling tickets, light or no light. F*** that mess inside."