Monday, February 23, 2009

I Hate You For Being Me

I don't know when it was that I started hating people so much. You take an average person, and they don't mind other people around, hell most of them even like it. For me though, it lately seems that I have to force myself to be in a crowd. Saturday night, Jen and I ventured out to see Ben Folds, and I found myself getting angry at things that I should have been able to let go of.

First off, we get to the venue almost two hours before the doors open. We do this because the show is sold out, and we love getting our usual spot on the upper deck. There are tables and bar stools that ring the upper level, and it's a great spot to sit and see the entire stage. While you don't have the amazing view of being right up front, you get a great view of the whole band and the plusses of a seat combined with easy access to the bar and bathrooms. In short, it's where the old people go. The thing is, there are literally less than 30 of these stools, so if you want one, you roll in early.

So, I was pretty angry when a lady and her two teenage kids tried to cut into line in front of us. They had been hanging out under an awning while we got rained on, and now that they were close to opening the doors, they had come over and tried to push their way into the line. I avoid confrontation at almost every turn, but I didn't this time. We exchanged words. Bottom line is they didn't get in in front of us, but I felt like a dick. That is, until the couple in front of us befriended us and we spent the remaining half hour in line chatting them up about our mutual hatred of people. I love people who hate people.

We get in, grab our amazing seats, and set up camp. It's expected that the people who roll in later are going to crush in to your space to see what's going on, but the large woman who was insistent on laying her boobs on my lap while talking loudly to her friends from the Marketing Department was not appreciated.

An add for a local on-line school comes up on the screen. "Who's the idiot who did that in four colors? Don't they know that just triples their marketing costs?"

I'm tempted to turn my head to ask why it doesn't quadruple their costs, but am afraid of taking a nipple to the eye.

"Lost is just getting too far out there now. That show is just crazy."

Again, I'm tempted to turn to ask why the Polar Bear on a moving deserted island hadn't given her pause, but time travel was out of the question. Again, the nipple threat holds me in check.

The opening band starts to play, and it takes about three measures of music for her to decide they are not worth her time, and so turns to continue her conversation more loudly as to project over the four guys on stage trying to earn a living. She begins each sentence with "That's interesting, because..."

"That's interesting, because I knew a girl who dated the girl from that department. She said she was in charge of the equipment, if you know what I mean!"

"That's interesting, because I saw him the other day on The Daily Show and he just wasn't that funny."

Jen and I threw our nipple fears to the wind and timed some hate glances her way that eventually silenced the running conversations, which would then be picked up in the spaces between songs.

"Did you see that episode of Saturday Night Live when the guy with the hair did the...Oh, I'll tell you in a minute."

That I could live with.

Eventually, The Miniature Tigers made it through their set. Admittedly, they were not that exciting, and I found myself wondering if it was just the woman's loudness that was making me angry. It occurred to me that while she was recounting the shows she watched, the things that made her laugh, her complaining that she had to stand in once place for an extended period of time, and her telling her plans of witty Facebook status updates she planned to make over the next few days that these were all discussions that I could easily have been involved in myself.

Seriously, when she started talking about Facebook, I shuddered thinking to myself that I'll never log on to that goddamned site again. No way would that woman and I share any singular enjoyment.

When she moved her way up beside me to lean on the ledge because her hips were hurting her from standing in one place too long, I was embarrassed for her at the same time I was grateful for my bar stool. There I was sitting at a show, disliking a stranger beside me because of how much she resembled me. And the weird thing is, by and large I do like myself. So why would it bother me to see myself in someone else? We should have been buying each other shots and hugging after every song.

Thankfully, Ben and the band hit the stage shortly after and was completely amazing. I forgot about the lady and her nipples (at least while they weren't on my lap or scraping my arm) and had a great time. I loved being part of the crowd as they sang the horn parts from "Army" and served as the choir for "Not the Same". We all laughed at the same times, all got quiet when the band played "Cologne", and all left with smiles on our faces. I liked people a little bit more, and all the bitterness seemed to have gone.

Then yesterday, Jen and I are hanging around Merryman Manor watching some DVR'd Lost. Two minutes into the episode I get my bearings back and realize they are doing one of their patented "fast forward" plot maneuvers, when I open my mouth to say that the show is getting pretty far fetched these days.

Son of a bitch.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Oh, nipples.