Hippies Don't Take Punches Well

My current "facebook" status reads as follows:

"Logan is hoping to overcome his fear of hippies by attending Burning Man next week.”

I hate it when “facebook” makes me write in third person.

While patiently waiting to attend this year's Burning Man, I have set up camp at a Walmart in Reno, Nevada, the big city closest to the event. Part of me is worried about attending Burning Man. The truth is, more often than not, hippies really annoy me.

Everyone has people they don't naturally click with. That doesn't mean that you can't learn to like and appreciate these people, just that it might take a little more work due to a natural aversion. I am no different.

Perhaps I don't like hippies because, though we share many of the same ideals, they have a tendency of taking these ideals too far with no appreciation for reality, thus giving said ideals a bad name. Then again, maybe it's just the smell.

This anti-hippie attitude is one of the main reasons I feel the need to attend Burning Man. I've found that generally the best way to gain an appreciation for a group of people is to immerse yourself in that culture and learn from them. Maybe I'm naive, but I still feel that most people have good intentions and that in the end, to know someone better is to like someone better.

This theory is being tested heavily already, and Burning Man hasn't even started. I awake this morning in a Walmart parking lot with an overwhelming urge to pee. Opening my van doors, I step onto the asphalt in a daze.

"Good morning! Did you sleep alright?"

I ignore the call, assuming it is being addressed to someone else. I soon realize that the two men stepping out of a red car fifty yards away are speaking to me.

"Oh, hey," I say skeptically. "How are you doing?"

"You heading to Burning Man?" one man asks. He is small, with a limp handshake. The cheese in his beard distracts me.

"Yeah, I'm heading to Burning Man." Am I that transparent?

"Us too."

The man pauses. For a second I see fear in his eyes. Why? Have I been anything but warm? There is something off about the man. He can hold a reasonable conversation, but there is an empty shiftiness in his eyes. If body language did not exist, he would not seem odd, but given the circumstances, he comes across as sincerely creepy.

His friend is actually quite nice. He is also small, with long hair and a cheese-free mustache.

"Yeah, we checked out your website," he offers. "It looks very cool."

"Thanks," I say, looking for a way to exit. "Well, I've got to go to Starbucks and write a blog, so..."

"Yeah, we're pretty busy," says Creepy Guy. "I'm sure you are too."

I head into Walmart, make use of the restroom, then head back to my van. Feeling bad about judging the man I now refer to as Creepy Guy, I decide to offer an olive branch.

"Hey, you guys wanna sign my van?"

"Oh, we've already taken care of that," Creepy guy says in an ominous tone.

Uh-oh.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I glance down at a new signature that displays two stoner nicknames, the date and "Burning Man." A little creepy that it was done without my permission in a Walmart parking lot while I was sleeping inside? Sure. But at least it is small and tactful.

I head to the nearest gas station and start to fill up. Finding the experience I just had amusingly eerie, I phone my best friend and recall the story. As I do, I cross the front of the van.

"I'm just glad they didn't write anything..."

"Son of a ..."

Across the hood of my van, in giant letters from the same marker:


I am furious. The worst part is not that they graffitied my van, but that they did it knowing I was sleeping inside at the time. Against my friend's wishes, I walk back towards the Walmart to confront the disrespectful hippies. Seeing their car empty, I head into the store.

They are easy to find.

"Did you write 'Wake the F up' on the hood of my van?"

"Huh? No."

"You didn't? So it just happened to show up the same night as you wrote on it in the same marker?"

"We didn't write that. You saw the small one right?"

"Yeah. In the same marker. If you didn't write it, then who wrote it?"

"The other guy. Remember how I told you the other guy was there? We gave him the marker."

I do not remember him talking about the other guy.

"That is not cool with me."

It occurs to me that I am angry and that I tower over the men. They are clearly scared, but I do not care. I am standing to the side of their shopping cart and a couple feet away.

"I am not comfortable with this," Creepy Guy says. "This is not okay."

"I am not okay with what was written on my van."

"I have things to do."

"I'm not stopping you. I just think you should know that your actions have consequences."

"How much clearer do I have to be that I don't want him here?" Creepy Guy asks his friend in a whiny tone that makes me rue the fact that I am not a violent man.

I glare at them.

"I don't know," his friend responds. "I think I'd be mad too."

"I have things to do," Creepy Guy insists, his eyes once again betraying his confidence.

It is clear that he is beyond offering an apology.

I am beyond wanting one, so I walk away, shaking my head.

When I get to Starbucks to write my blog, I check my email. The first message I read comes from a friend, responding to my “facebook” status.

"Don't trust hippies. They'll make you think they're cute and cuddly, and just when you let your guard down, they'll inject you with their poison. It's true, hippies are poisonous. More so than spiders."

Burning Man looks less and less promising every day. But I feel I must give it a chance. Besides, based on my limited research, "Ministry of Alchemy" will be there, roaming the desert with his fellow hippies.

I don't wish him ill, but it would be nice to get an apology...and maybe some white-out.