I had a very unethical encounter with an undercover officer at the portapotties at 6:30 & I at about 10am on exodus day, Monday Sept 3, 2012.
For details, there was a gal, very, very thin, very “burnery” look, very clean, having a “meltdown” and loudly wailing “Please help me”, “I lost my keys”, “I want out of here”, “I need out of this dust”, and professionally tossing her (fairly clean) GSA-white crossover vehicle at these portapotties (Note 2013: a very similar or identical GSA-white crossover vehicle was in the LE compound at the 12 mile gate this year with LE markings on it). People over 200 feet away heard her wails, she definitely wasn’t trying to be discreet. I, and a gal named (redacted), went over to help her.
Funny you should mention someone of very distinctive thinness. I had my own very interesting experience this year with a very unusually thin interloper; either The World's Most Irritating Tweaker, or . . . well, Undercover Law Enforcement.
Either way, REALLY annoying.
I walk into my friend's shade just before midnight on Tuesday of the event. We were drinking and giggling--wasting time with each other as long-time friends, instead of going out to rave it up. Just 5 or 6 of us in a personal shade structure, no bar or anything public.
Suddenly this remarkably
thin, dark-haired girl, mid-20's, dressed in Native American-lite appears on a bar stool with us, without so much as a how-do-you-do. No invitation. Such distractingly thin little arms--you couldn't look away. She was talking a blue streak about something, but she changed topics about once every two sentences, if that. Rapid-fire. Either very much intoxicated, or wanted us to think she was. About 60 seconds into her visit, she mentions wanting to "smoke a bowl", evidently to calm down, who knows.
"No one here DOES that," I tell her. And then, because I'm pissed, I add, "And anyone who doesn't know you extremely well and asks you for that stuff?! IS NOT YOUR FRIEND."
hanging out on the bar stool talking, as if anyone is actually replying to her (although at this point, one or two of us are kind of tittering). She name-drops Fandango in some sort of way, although I doubt anyone that annoying actually had ties to Fandango.
I find myself sort of circulating restlessly through the shade, unnerved by her twitchiness and unpredictable demeanor. I don't know much about meth except that I don't want to be sitting deep in a couch when some stranger chock-full of it takes exception to how I'm looking at her.
"Maybe you should sit down
," Danger said to me.
"I don't feel comfortable with that right now."
I really didn't! I felt endangered.
I spent the next 10 minutes deflecting the contents of her brain rather than deciding to charge it directly. Suddenly with a twitchy flounce, she disappears through the back of camp. GOOD RIDDANCE.
We keep chit-chatting. The relief is palpable.
"Where do you think she went?" someone asks at last.
"Oh, she's probably out back somewhere, bleeding out on a piece of rebar," Danger answers, and we laughed about that for a full minute.
And for the rest of the week, it became the answer for where anyone is at any time (if we don't actually know).
"Oh, probably out back somewhere, bleeding out on a piece of rebar."
We'll never know if she was real or fake. Doesn't matter. What a pain in the ass.