The SYTYCDC was really cool. It was a high energy show, and we had fantastic seats. I really liked it – definitely a different experience than a normal concert or the opera, but one I am glad I got to see.
Then there was the issue of the girl sitting next to me.
She and her friend didn’t look older than 15, but judging by the many many beers they had between them they had to have been at least 19 (or in possession of some fairly potent fake ID). Already animated about the show, Girl A (sitting to my immediate right) spent the evening getting more and more excited, loud, pointy and drunk.
For starters, I honestly don’t know why she was there in the first place. She spent the entire show (and I am not exaggerating; the only time there was no scream-talking in my ear was when they were off getting more beer) having a loud, breathy conversation with her friend that had nothing to do with what was happening on stage. It actually made it difficult to hear the music, let alone what the dancers were saying in their little segues between numbers.
Then she started flailing.
She was a hand talker, and although she looked as though a strong wind would snap her skinny ass in two, her personal space bubble grew to incredible dimensions. Over the course of the three hour tour evening, I was hit with her hands, arms, elbows, hips, ass, hair, purse, knees, feet, and shins. I tried to get her attention to ask her to stop, but she was too drunk and too hyper to notice me. I grit my teeth and settled for throwing the frequent disgusted glare her way, and sat back to enjoy the show.
While I’m routinely a mild-mannered specimen of person, I do occasionally have issues with my temper. I’ve mellowed as I’ve aged, but there was a time .. well, it was bad. I was loud and angry and the chip that can still be seen on my shoulder? Well, it was sort of the size of Grouse Mountain. I’m pretty sure I’ve foamed at the mouth before, and I’ve destroyed things in anger. Issues, I has them.
As the night wore on, I was getting more and more murderous towards this little slip of nothing that was insisting on molesting my personal space. During the final number, the crowd was on its feet with the cheering – except for me, because I had a lap full of stuff and nowhere to put it. It was then that most of the girl seemed to end up in my lap, and I finally snapped. After being smacked in the head with her bag three times in the span of 30 seconds, I threw out a high-velocity elbow and made contact with a bony little ass. Okay, it wasn’t exactly a punch, but if I didn’t think the arena cops would be all over me, I would have done it. I am so bad ass.
Unfortunately, the little idiot was too far gone in whatever fuels her existence to notice. The mini-attacks continued and I got angrier – so I kicked her.
She didn’t notice that, either.
The show was over at this point, and the lights came up. Shan and I shuffled out of our row, and luckily for me the obnoxious twat went in the opposite direction. I was livid though, and I actually uttered the phrase “I AM GOING TO CUT A BITCH IF I DON’T GET OUT OF HERE SOON” very loudly. I followed that up with a furious diatribe full of swearing and unflattering descriptions of the girl, all the while trying to maneuver my way out of the aisle. It wasn’t until we were on the stairs and waiting to head up that I realized that I had done most of my swearing as I passed by some still-seated old people who were waiting for the crowds to disperse before leaving the stands. They looked a little shocked at either my anger or choice of language, but this did little to keep me from expressing my theory that the girl was a disease-riddled crack child who came into this world on a filthy gas station bathroom floor and was perhaps continuing the family business by giving hand jobs to pimply frat boys for nickels and the occasional Coors Light. It probably didn’t help that I excitedly remembered I actually WAS carrying a knife – albeit one with a 3/4″ blade about as sharp as a tuba – and if I wanted, I probably COULD cut a bitch (although it would take a great deal of sawing). While I usually enjoy freaking out the squares, I felt it was probably best that I take myself away from the frightened old people, and made my way upstairs to get lost in the crowd of 11,000.
Safely away from the flailing oblivious drunk girl, I rued that I did not punch her more directly. This is why I do not go out often; I am apparently violent when repeatedly mishandled.
Other then my murderous rage, the evening was very fun. We met up with the gang in Gastown for a late dinner after the show, solidified our plans for today, and called it an evening. The dancers were pretty awesome, Shan loved it, and I got to play with my new iPhone camera lenses to get some pictures:
I’m feeling much better now, though.