Walking through the grounds of the Sick New World, I see the Spiral and Siren stages directly across from my home for the day: Artist Merchandise. The excitement in my chest builds as I know I’ll get to hear the Knocked Loose and Sleep Token sets. Being several years into working the festival circuit, I know slipping out on a break to catch artists that I love is few and far between. As my boss mentioned in our email “we have an absolute soul-crusher in front of us.” However, coming off of two weeks at Coachella, I truly underestimated what 80,000 people in a single day would do to not only my spiritual soul but the soles of my feet as well.

I set my backpack filled with Red Bull, electrolytes, mixed nuts, hoodies, and friendship bracelets on the table as everyone around me buzzes with pre-show jitters. Our boss hurriedly checks all of her ducklings in and I hand her the personalized bracelets I made for the management team (being obsessive with crafts has always resulted in extra presents for those around me.) I scan the merch already hung from long chains, they feel fitting for a metal festival. System Of A Down dominates the center, with a dozen different products, flanked by Bring Me The Horizon, Slipknot, Sleep Token, and Lamb Of God. I chose my terminal for the day, leaving a Gatorade and bottle of water beside the tablet. I always prefer the center of the booth where the mouth of the Disneyland line spits out customer after customer. Remaining busy helps the days pass faster and gives guests a more positive experience. 

At 11 am the gates open and immediately bodies fill the bike racks like sheep being herded. I imagine invisible border collies nipping at their heels to stay on track and zig zag through as fast as possible. “Get there immediately to make sure they have your size!” my invisible canines would call out. Shirt after shirt, sweatshirt after sweatshirt, “can I see a large and an extra large? I like mine a little roomie.” I run through the charade of holding up the front to my chest and then the back. Flipping the tablet for tip options and payment processing. No one walks away with a piece of merchandise until the transaction clears under my watch, and I will death grip the last ($120, brown, pre-distressed with holes) System Of A Down hoodie until my monitor presents the receipt form. 

As the day wears on, I feel my body aching and look at my Apple Watch. Somehow we have time traveled from 11 am to 6 pm. “Group B, go eat dinner!” I hustle to the back as bodies collide in the tent. Boxes are looking thinner, piles are disappearing and we’ve already hit the point of selling smalls and 2x/3x of products. If there is one thing to be said about metalheads, it is that they are willing to wait for their merchandise. I plop down on a cooler with my veggie option from catering, some roasted veggies and falafel over rice, and a bottle of water. We have approximately 10 minutes to crank through dinner and return to the battlefield of finding the right size, color, and design for every patron who made the trek to Las Vegas for their favorite bands. I eat in silence before popping four more ibuprofen and two Tylenol (is that medically safe?) and head back to my post. 

As the night wears on, I change into a Bring Me The Horizon hoodie to stay on brand with the festival and a majority of the displays have been sold through. With less Slipknot and System Of A Down boxes, we have more room to breathe and move. Our tent thins out on sizes, styles, and the hope of patrons to purchase their dream t-shirt before the end of Sick New World. I see the stagehands begin to set up for Sleep Token’s set, and take a look at the line in front of us. There is no way I will be slipping out to catch Vessel serenading tonight’s crowd. The sound of Swans playing on the Siren Stage overpowers Sleep Token’s on Spiral, and I let my soul feel defeated. Helping patron after patron, I look up and their set has ended. The stage is being shut down with the overhead lights on as I fold a shirt for the band to hand to the eager girl in front of me. I smile and tell her they are one of my favorite bands. She jumps up and down while informing me she feels the same. 

System Of A Down is winding down their set and our lines have finally thinned out. I help the final customers of the night at 12:30 as managers behind me begin to strip the displays and count out remaining products to be shipped back to bands. Security is eager to shuffle the final stragglers out of the grounds. Our boss thanks the team for all the hard work and promises checks will hit Friday. My weary body heads for the exit and I take a singular photo of the Sick New World logo on a scrim. I turn to my friend, showing him the steps we took; 23,000 in the 16 hours of us being in the Las Vegas Festival Grounds. He laughs because he knows as well as I do, that number is just another day behind the merch table.