Thimot Details her Catastrophes at OSL

By: Michaela Thimot 

People Editor

Don’t get me wrong, Outside Lands was probably one of the best weekends of my life, but looking back on some of the borderline psychotic things I experienced, it adopts a tinge of horror.

I honestly don’t know what scared me more, Oliver Tree screaming at the crowd that he hates them while a full grown man dressed in an alien suit yelled incomprehensible noises next to him, or the multiple people in front of me during Jack Harlow THOROUGHLY enjoying each other’s company. In the wise words of El Gato editor-in-chief Brynn Gibson, “Oliver hurt my feelings.” Yeah, we all agree. 

The worst part might have been attempting to get out of the park after Posty healed my soul and single handedly changed my life. I. Saw. Heaven. Imagine the joy of skin to skin contact with sweaty teenagers at Coro, and now multiply that by a crowd of Post Malone proportions. I swear I’m not exaggerating when I say I developed a newfound sense of claustrophobia just from the group of college boys trying to shotgun [redacted beverages] in standstill traffic of 200,000 people. I was uncomfy, very uncomfy. My idiotic friend attempted to do a backflip next to these sad excuses for men and fell directly into them, spilling an entire can of said beverages all over my beautiful, brand new white bodysuit.

Looking back, I probably shouldn’t have worn a silky white bodysuit only to be thrown into a mob of sweaty imbeciles, but I cared more about how delicious I looked than the state of my top, which thankfully (barely) resisted falling apart. The only redeeming quality of this crowd was a group attempt to sing the same three lines of an indecipherable song while slowly marching through a tunnel. It all felt very Hallmark-teenage-coming-of-age movie to me. 

The weekend also gifted me with a lovely new scar on my ankle that hasn’t healed a full month later, a permanent reminder of the fear instilled upon me. Honestly, I’m surprised some OSL born microbe hasn’t infested my ankle yet. The trip to get to and from the park from our hotel was about three miles, which in SF with its hills is more like 200 miles. The Ubers were ridiculously priced at close to 100 dollars, so we opted to take Lime and Bird scooters instead. DO NOT USE LIME!! I repeat: DO. NOT. USE. I had to use four different Lime scooters in one trip there because mine decided to die any time the incline reached over five degrees. I was forced to ride on the back of my friend’s until I found a superior Bird scooter. Regardless, said teenage boy grew up thinking he was some sort of scooter icon and decided to jump over every curb imaginable. Before I finally did get a Bird scooter, I hit it against my ankle three different times and was left to suffer at the park with it uncovered, bleeding, and exposed for an entire day. It was giving grown up Razor scooter to the ankle. It caused me enough pain to want to send me straight out of the park, but the entire experience was worth it to see the one and only, Post Malone. 

Categories: Humor

Leave a Reply