Disorientation

My cell phone alarm sounds. Time to wake up. Jump out of my bunk. Say ‘good morning’ to John who’s already hard at work on his computer, fighting the on-going fight with our sub-par WiFi.
“I swear, if I find out who’s been streaming…” he says, shaking a mental fist.
Stepping out of the bus, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the burst of light. New city. New parking lot, more precisely. Some are gravel. Others grass. Few are paved completely. But every time there’s the same disorienting feeling – you have no idea where anything is. The bathrooms. The stage. Turn left out of the bus? Right? Why do people appear to be walking in six different directions?
You finally get a sense of what state you’re in after perusing the license plates in the parking lot. Still, this information helps little when it’s nine in the morning and all you want is a hot shower.
So I wander for a little while. Scope out the line of people forming by the main gate. It’s hundreds long with hours to go.
Sure, right now this place feels like an alien planet, but by bus-call, I’ll know exactly where to get free beef jerky. Where our friends’ buses are parked. How to get a cocktail. And as soon as I’m finally comfortable with the venue –
Robin, our bus driver, comes walking up the beaten path totting his suitcase. He shoots me a glare that says: “Time to go.” No alarm necessary.