Pickles & Dimes

I’m not a fan of music concerts. One of the reasons is because I don’t drink very much, so the thought of some jerk spilling beer on me while singing completely different lyrics than the song being performed isn’t appealing. Another reason is because I can neither sing nor dance and fear embarrassing myself in public. Yet another reason is because I’m cheap, and I can’t justify the expense of decent tickets, much less the cost of thin, practically-already-falling-apart souvenir t-shirts.

But mainly, I think it’s because I hate standing for hours on end.

Because I’m engaged to Jason, who is a music fiend to say the least, I feel obligated to go to concerts. This time, however, I was excited to go because it was Aerosmith. Jason got tickets in the second row of the upper deck. I was happy because I figured the people in front of us would sit since they had a perfect view.

The people in front of us ended up being three drunk, still-trying-to-be young middle-aged women. The middle woman turned to introduce herself to us, which in my mind meant she was trying to butter us up so we wouldn’t be pissed later when she threw up in our laps.

But I’m happy to report that the women were perfect. So perfect in fact, that when an usher came by and offered to upgrade us, we declined. Then, during the break before Aerosmith, the women left. And all Hell broke loose.

Jason wanted to take their seats, but because I am a stupid moronic idiot, I refused. I thought they were coming back.

They never did.

The guy in our row who had sat two seats down from me took the seats, beckoning his two friends to do the same. One of them, a girl, did. And then they stood right in front of us.

Jason gave me an “I told you so” look. I cursed my stupidity.

The girl, even though she was three sheets to the wind, noticed that we couldn’t see and told her buddy she was going back. It took two guys to direct her drunken, uncoordinated limbs to her seat. Her buddy looked at us, shrugged and scooted over an eighth of an inch, only blocking 99.7% of my view.

Buddy Boy needed an intervention. Particularly one that told him that drunk people can’t hold a beer in each hand because it throws off their equilibrium. He attempted to dance with two plastic cupfuls of booze and succeeded in sloshing a thick rope of beer on the chair in front of me.

Not done yet, Buddy Boy then finished one of his beers and tossed his empty cup over the railing, where I assume it hit someone. I debated clapping him on the back, hoping it would upset his precarious balance and send him plummeting.

But as his dancing got more and more outrageous (this guy had no rhythm AT ALL), I felt something land on my arm. It felt soft, like a wad of paper, so I almost didn’t look. But I did.

And discovered a lit cigarette nestled on my coat. I hurriedly pulled it out and stepped on it. Once Jason saw what it was, he turned to confront the guys standing behind us. One of the guys tried to reason with him, saying, “It’s a concert, man. What do you expect?”

I must be an idiot, because I expect people to still act like human beings, not animals. And I certainly don’t expect to find a freaking LIT CIGARETTE burning a hole in my good winter coat.

This is why I can’t have nice things.

Luckily for the guy, his buddy stepped in and smoothed things over. Only because I didn’t realize how big the hole was that had burned into my jacket, right in front, where everyone can see it, and dear god, I wish I could just go back and punch that guy in the face, because he TOTALLY deserved it.

Hmmm…maybe that’s why I don’t like concerts. They always make me want to punch people.

By the way, Aerosmith was AWESOME.