While they were vampiring me for a suitable hydration vein, Jeff was happily wandering around looking at stuff.
By now, race start was only two hours away. I told Jeff he didn’t have to stay with me. “You should go watch the race,” I said sincerely. “Just come back and get me later.”
“You won’t be here that long,” the needle wiggler commented. “You’ll be outta here way before the race starts.”
I was starting to feel a little fuzzy, and wondering how that was gonna work, when Jeff found another staffer and pulled him aside.
These are the things I heard him say, before the vicodin fully kicked in.
“This is so cool!” he exclaimed to the other one.
“NONE of my friends have ever been in here. I’m the only one!” He sounded pretty pleased about my predicament.
“Hey! Is that blood?” referring to a spot on the floor. “Which driver is that from?”
It wasn’t from a driver. It wasn’t even blood; just a permanently stained splatter spot of some other sort.
Jeff was actually disappointed. “Awww,” he said. After a beat, and with some thought, he added, “Guess it’s kinda a good thing you don’t see too many drivers…”
“I was hoping you had a good story to tell me…” he continued. “Got any good stories?”
“What else is here? Do you have an operating room? Can I take a tour, see everything else?”
Before I slipped into lala-land, I barked at Jeff. “Hey! Over here! I got a problem and you’re taking a tour!? Get over here and hold my hand!”
“Ok,” he agreed, “but, this really is cool!”
They sent me back to the infield (in a cart, I’m told) with a paper RX for Vicodin for when we got out and wishes for good luck.
I said I’d be fine, as Jeff headed off into the stands, ticket in hand. I mostly slept in the van with the cargo door splayed. I remember being happy about blankets, but, honestly, I’m not sure why. Not only are MIS race weekends usually hot, most times muggy, being in the middle of all that tire/tarmac and exhaust generated heat made it even hotter.
Some things are super clear. Other things… yeah, no.
I do know I wobbled a third of the way across the infield to the bathrooms twice on my own.
Occasionally, I would notice people sitting nearby, but never thought much of it.
I later learned that Jeff’s friends next to us and some a few rows away had taken shifts to make sure I didn’t need help. One of the women had even followed me to the bathroom. I had no clue.
I don’t remember packing up the van, or leaving. I don’t remember how we got the van back to his Mom’s house, or how I ended up in bed at ours.
I do remember waking up around 9 PM and wondering what had happened.
Quote for the Week: