Jonathan Grubb

I just got back from the best burning man ever. I did a few things differently this year, which I’ll continue to write about for a few posts unless I decide not to.

#1 is a project I called The Treatment.

As you may know, one of the core tenets of burning man (at least the burning man that I participate in, not the dance music one) is doing things for other people. The most confused and, dare I say, wrong version of this was demonstrated by Troy (real name) who we met at The Duck Pond. He was hitting on my friend as her boyfriend and I followed along from a few feet away, knowing that his by-the-book PUA (look it up) tactics would fail completely. He finished his lame attempt at human interaction by offering each of us a cheap plastic rainbow peace sign necklace, and item so repulsive it turned me pro-war for the rest of the evening.

This is exact wrong version of the gift economy, giving out something that is meaningless to everyone and requires nearly no effort from anyone. But it did give me an idea. What if, instead of giving out a little something to each person I met (like the hundreds of drinks I poured at our bar) I gave everything I possibly could to one person?

I got my whole camp of about 30 people on board and vetted each passerby. It was easy to eliminate people: anyone who asks is out, hot girls are used to getting whatever they want, long time burners will be jaded, hippies just take and take. It took a half hour to find the right guy: obvious first timer, dressed in clean khakis and white button down shirt, walking alone, no water, slightly sad, fresh cast on his left arm. I invited him in for a drink.

When asked he told me that, on his way to burning man from Canada, an 80 year old man pulled out in front of him while he was driving 70 mph down a 2-lane highway. He swerved but still hit the guy at full speed. The police and insurance company wouldn’t tell him if the guy lived or died. If anyone ever needed The Treatment it was this guy.

The Treatment lasted about 6 hours. Noona, our camp costumer, picked out day and night ensembles to match his personal tastes and style. Every Karaoke song was dedicated to him, and he got to pick songs and singers, who would sing directly to him. There were more than a few hot girls in our camp, and plenty of love songs to last the evening. He was even serenaded by KP2, which gets me pretty excted no matter how many times she does it. I think Betty gave him her hand treatment — totally necessary to keep the playa from drying and cracking your skin — and she flossed his teeth which everyone needs after a couple days out there. I made him a custom water bottle, shade umbrella, and creepy baby head necklace/drink straw. Mason and Mellissa made him a tiny hat. Jason and Space Brother grilled him up some tender meats, each with a wine pairing, and he got to smoke as many of Ethan’s cigarettes as he wanted without anyone complaining. We gave him a good half hour of relationship advice and formulated a full strategy for him to make it with the woman of his dreams. When it was time for him to go out and see the rest of the city he left with a bag of goodies to give out to others, not peace sign necklaces but the kind of things people really want: canned coffee, booze, snacks, candy necklaces (a godsend to people in a certain state of mind).

He gave us one of the few things he’d brought along on his trip, which I will keep in the pocket of my NeverNudes (see forthcoming post) for their natural lifetime. The Treatment’s (as he came to be called) father is Indian. Like many middle class Indian Americans he is a pretty big deal back on the Subcontinent and is able to get things that are sought after by millions, like an audience with Sathya Sai Baba, the avatar and reincarnation of the saint Sai Baba of Shirdi. For Americans he’s the guy with big hair and an orange robe commonly seen on shrines in Indian restaurants and on taxi cab dashboards. The Treatment explained that, like me, he’s a software engineer / science type and has little use for religion, but that his father totally believed in this guy and that was worth something. He told me that Sai Baba’s go-to miracle is making ashes appear in his hand, and that the ashes are blessed, and that when your father gets an audience with Sai Baba he gets to take home some ashes and sprinkle them on the floorboard of his son’s car so when somebody pulls out in front of him and he t-bones their car he gets away with a broken arm and some nasty but temporary seartbelt bruises. Then he pulled a little canister of ashes from his bag and poured me some.

So now I have these magic ashes which I’ve been using to bless everyone who vaguely believes in that sort of thing, and anyone who has Indian parents who would be super excited about them getting an indirect blessing from a living avatar via some dude they met at Burning Man. Hit me up if you want me to mail you some.

When The Treatment came back the next day and asked for something innocuous (I think it was a gin and tonic) Noona told him that his treatment was over now, he was just another poor sucker like the rest of us, and he should go behind the bar and pour his own goddamn gin and tonic. I hope he realized that that was the best part of the whole treatment.