Veggie Burrito May Be Deciding Factor in Man’s Standoff with Porto Potties

July 8, 2011
By ScottaJibboo

Watkins Glen, NY: Sources tell us that a single, seemingly harmless vegetarian burrito may have been the impetus that ended a long-lasting tactical standoff between a highly-motivated Phish fan and the collective entity known as the on-site festival Porto Potty.

2:30 p.m. Friday

“On the way to the fest,” said girlfriend Rachel Graff, “Jerry was going on and on about how he wasn’t gonna use the Porto potties all weekend. I didn’t take him seriously at first, but apparently he’d been planning this for a while now. He said he’d ‘effectively evacuated’ himself before we left, whatever that means. He even brought a bottle of Imodium. And tons of carbs. I guess he was pretty serious about it.”

“Have you ever been in one of those things?” asked Jerry Riley as he swallowed two Imodium’s and devoured a potassium-rich banana. “Fuck that, man. Not this year…you aint getting me this year, Portos. I’m ready for you,” he challenged, with a gleam in his eye and a fist in the air, meanwhile working his way through a brick of cheddar cheese and nibbling from a loaf of Wonder Bread.

“You beat me at the Went,” he continued ruefully, staring across the campground at a row of blue, innocent-looking plastic shelters, “and claimed my favorite cargo shorts as your war trophy. You got me again at the Wheel. I walked out of there with one less sock and a flaming hemorrhoid. I managed pretty well at Oswego…but after an incident at Cypress: let’s just say, checkmate Portos. Score: 3-1…but your time’s up,” threatened Riley, as he shoved a large chunk of potato into his mouth and gagged before swallowing.

“Let’s go see some Phish!” he exclaimed.

UPDATED: 7:30 p.m. Saturday

Our sources caught up with Riley and Rachel as they were resting at their campsite between sets.

According to Rachel, Jerry’s been so far successful in his difficult endeavor. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Sure, he’d walk over to the tree line to urinate, but as far as I know, he hasn’t been to the portos once in the last two days.”

We asked her if she has noticed any residual effects from her boyfriend’s dedicated boycott.

“I mean, he seems fine: a little, uh, pent-up, maybe. I looked over at him during Boogie On, and his face was sort of red and scrunched. But he may have just been really into the jam. Also, he was kinda grunting as we walked back to the tent during the first setbreak… and he’s been complaining a bunch about the rocks on the path and the dips in the uneven ground; but other than that…

“Oh yeah,” she continued, “well, he did have to sit down during Camel Walk, which is very strange for him. Camel Walk’s Jerry’s favorite song,” she said. “And he took off for somewhere at the first notes of Crosseyed last night! I have no clue why, he’s been dying to hear it. But other than that…he’s been doing great.”

We found Riley poised on the bumper of his Jeep, strategically shifting his hips and leveraging his body weight while alternately favoring one or another of his buckled knees.

“I’m doing OK,” said a squeamish looking Riley as he swept the sweat from his brow with wax paper from a slice of cheese. “Music’s been, uh, great. Cheese is really good,” he said, peeling the plastic wrapper off his third brick of cheddar. “Argghh. Oh boy. Yeah man, great, uh, festival so far.”

“Are you OK?” asked Rachel.

“Yeah, um, fine,” replied Jerry. “Just a little sick of cheddar, is all. Hand me a potato, will you? Thanks,” he said, biting into the half-cooked potato. “Ugh.”

“Jerry, take a chair,” offered his girlfriend.

“Those chairs are so goddamned uncomfortable!” he insisted through a mouth full of food, evoking stares from neighboring campers. “Sorry,” he said, “Just a little frustrated is all. Can you hand me the milk? Thanks.”

” Ugh,” he added.

“Jerry,” remarked Rachel.

“They aint gonna get me this time,” he vowed.

“We should go,” said Rachel, “second set’s starting soon.”

“You go. I’m just gonna sit here for a little bit,” he said. “I was thinking; we should leave after the third set, beat traffic.”

“Jerry, it’s only Saturday. We got a whole ‘nother day of music!”

“Ugh,” he added.

UPDATED: 1:45 p.m. Sunday

We received word from 26-year-old Phish fan and veggie burrito vendor Rainwater that his E-Z Up was visited early Sunday morning by a ‘visibly frustrated, uncomfortable looking dude,’ who our sources later confirmed was indeed Jerry Riley.

“He acted like he was buying drugs,” said Rainwater. “He stepped up all nervous like, looking both ways behind his shoulders before ordering a veggie burrito. When I asked him if he wanted cheese on it, he flipped, starting babbling under his breath about Cheddar, cargo shorts, and the Great Went. His fists were balled up and he was kind of slouched over, holding his belly. I don’t know what dude was on, but it was clear he needed some sustenance.”

“He asked me to leave the beans off the burrito,” said Rainwater. “More like demanded, actually. But I’ll tell you this; dude needed some fiber. When he was looking over his shoulder, I scooped three ladlefuls of beans onto the tortilla and rolled that sucker up. I figured it’d do him good. Besides, they were organic beans, straight from Oregon. Fresh, juicy, organic refried beans.”

“Can’t hurt, you know?” Rainwater speculated.

UPDATED: 6:30 p.m. Sunday

It has been reported by 24-year-old Mac Stiles that, as he headed into a stage-area porto potty to do a key-bump during Mound, he overheard distraught weeping coming from the porto potty next to him.

“It sounded bad, man,” said Mac. “Some guy was just crying in there. I wanted to do something, I even waited a few minutes to see if he’d come out, offer him some water or something, but he stayed in there, just wailing.”

“Whatever was going on in there, it sure sounded like some sort of existential crisis,” he said thoughtfully. “Those tears, man; they just sounded so…resigned.

“Call me crazy,” said Stiles, staring thoughtfully across the concert field, “but I heard something in those cries. It sounded like pure, unmitigated ecstasy, mixed with raw, self-punishing regret, like, all at once man. It was heavy.”

UPDATED: 10:52 p.m. Sunday

Unfortunately, by the time our sources made it back to Riley’s campground to check up on the couple, their campsite was packed up and their tent was gone.

All that remained was an empty 15×30-foot space, speckled with cheese wrappers rustling in the mild breeze as the band’s closing notes of the First Tube encore wafted from the faraway stage.

Between the mud-indented tire tracks from a Jeep that appeared to have left in a hurry, a tied-up potato sack sagged on the ground, one whose contents, though difficult to see, appeared to contain only a sole pair of crumpled up khaki cargo shorts.

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