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A role reversal — and ‘The Boss’

It’s the beginning of my senior year, my final hoorah of college. What would be better than driving to the Bruce Springsteen concert in Saratoga on the first week of school? My dad and his friend, Jabe, spend the car ride there reminiscing on their fraternity days at Castleton, and how much the campus has changed in certain areas. My dad and Jabe seem like the 22 year-olds during the drive, and I felt the 52 year-old. Two men twice my age, talking about college as if they’re still in classes, expressing their gratitude for me letting them stay the night, and constantly requesting we stop so they can get a few Corona’s before the show starts.

“Hey, Chad, why don’t you just let us get you a ticket? There’ll be scalpers there, what do you say?” my dad and Jabe kept repeatedly asking me.

The truth was, I could care less about seeing Bruce Springsteen. If this trip wasn’t a last minute decision for me I would have gotten a ticket and happily stood next to the college minded middle age men beside me. But since I was called about being the chauffeur for this concert I had the plan of doing my homework in the car. They both harassed me about my decision until they left the parking lot to catch the show.

Almost instantly I regretted staying. My so called three hours of reading lasted 20 minutes, and my other homework took half as long. I had prepared for this though, bringing an IPod and a book for boredom such as this.

I thought I saw something move out of my peripherals and surveyed the parking lot. A police officer on horseback was standing a car away from me, staring at me with a quizzical look on his face. After, what I assume, he realized I wasn’t causing trouble he left. Soon after the concert goers are all returning to the parking lot and leaving.

I looked around the parking lot, noticing I was one of four cars left. My dad and Jabe were nowhere to be found. After two phones calls saying they were getting close I was left as the last car parked in the entire lot. Forty-five minutes of waiting in a car for me, while they walked to literally every parking lot surround the Saratoga Performing Arts Center.

My dad took no time to pass out on my futon when we got back to my apartment; Jabe was in the kitchen blowing up an air mattress his wife sent him up with. Jabe told my dad he better not snore because it’s impossible to sleep through. About 15 minutes later Jabe is snoring and it sounds a pig being gutted, even if it takes me until 4 a.m. to fall asleep I can still get about seven hours of sleep. After all, I did make $100 driving to a concert to do my homework, and my dad and Jabe liked the trip so much it wouldn’t surprise me to see either at orientation this spring.