"ZZ Top meets Santa Claus"

I write about music. It's not my full time job, although I would love for it to be. Aside from earning a little extra cash, getting to go to shows free and listening to CDs I might not otherwise hear, I do it because I love music. Believe me, I love doing the music writing thing, and I do it by choice, not because I have to. With that said, there are times when I just want to chuck the writing and have my weekends and evenings back, especially now that I have a son. One of those instances happened last weekend. I went to a local venue to see a legendary musician who I had never before seen live. I'm not going to say who, simply to protect the innocent, and the guilty, but someone at the venue was describing this artist to a friend, and the physical description was "He looks like ZZ Top meets Santa Claus." That's actually pretty accurate.
So I get to the venue, and my name is not on the guest list. No big deal - it happens, but if I'm covering this show for a publication, I'm going to be shooting photos, taking notes, and paying attention without the benefit of any adult beverages. In other words, I was working. It ain't ditch digging, but it requires some concentration, and I wasn't keen on paying the cover charge, which was $30. Coupled with the gas I used to get to the venue, that would have had me working for free. I finally got in, and the opening band (locals, but good locals) had just finished. I set about looking for a good place to shoot photos.
Now I should preference what happened by stating that I am a big guy. I stand six feet three inches tall, and I'm not exactly skinny. In a general admission venue, such as this one, I have no problem hanging in the back for most of the show, but when taking pictures, I try to get up front for the first couple of songs to get some good shots. Personally, I would hate to have to stand behind me at a GA show, because unless you're my height, you're going to spend the evening staring at my back. You'll almost always find me standing off to the side or in the back of a club show.
When I walked into the venue for this show, the place was crowded, but up front there were big spaces in front of the stage where nobody was standing. I walked right up and stood near where the artist would be playing, staking my claim. That's how it works with GA. You move, you lose. If you go get a beer, and you come back and someone has taken your place up front, then enjoy your beer as you stand behind that person. This night though the crowd was sparse enough that people weren't shoulder to shoulder - at least not yet.
I had no sooner stepped into the empty space, when a very short woman I estimated to be in her mid-50's walked over (she was standing several steps away from me, and said, "Are you with the band?"
"No," I replied.
"Then you need to fuckin' move!"
I was a bit taken aback by the hostile start to the conversation, and for a minute, I thought she was joking. But then I saw that she was droopy-eyed and swaying, a clear indication that this "lady" was sauced. The thing was, as far as I could see, unless she stood directly behind me, I was not blocking her view. She too was standing at the foot of the stage, and had a 180 degree view of everything that might go down during a show. Somehow though, I had intruded.
"Excuse me?" I said, still hoping she was joshing me.
"I've been standing here for two fuckin' hours," she explained, "and you're not going to waltz in here and stand in front of me."
"There was an open space here big enough for two of me," I shot back. "And how exactly am I blocking your view?"
I've been here two fuckin' hours! You need to fuckin' move!"
At this point she was screaming over the crowd, and people were beginning to stare. I considered moving just to get her to pipe down, but it again occurred to me that I hadn't displaced anyone by stepping up to the position I was in.
Screw her.
"I think I'll stay where I am," I said.
"You're blocking my view," she screamed. "Fuckin' move!"
Charming
"Your view of what" I countered, "The bar?"
"I can't see!" she said, "You listen to me..." She said this because I had at that point decided to ignore her, but upon realizing this, she put her hand on my arm and attempted to physically turn me around to face her as she continued to rant.
Big mistake.
I turned to her and said, calmly, "Don't touch me. What in the world makes you think you can put your hands on me?"
"Listen to me," she demanded. I turned back around. She again tried to physically turn me around.
Again, calmly, I turned to her and said, "Don't touch me."
"Oh, are you going to hit me?" she countered.
I have never hit a woman in my life. Well, okay, there was that time I clobbered my sister when I was nine and she nearly broke my nose with a Barbie doll, but that story deserves a blog entry all its own. Perhaps another time. Seriously though, I wasn't going to hit her, and had made no threatening moves.
"No, dear - I'm not going to hit you, but if you don't settle down, I'll get you thrown out."
"You need to fuckin' moooove," she repeated, drawing out the word for some sort of imagined effect. "I wish my boyfriend was here. He's a big Clemson redneck, and he'd kick your ass!"
Amazing. I had done nothing to this woman, and now she was threatening me with bodily harm from a possibly imaginary beau from the upstate.
Incredibly, just a minute or so later, this harpie noticed another open space further over to the center, and went over to stand in it. Apparently this position was deemed by her to be not blocked by me, and until the show started she spent her time trying to catch my eye, most likely so she could gloat at her imagined superior positioning. I honestly couldn't have cared less.
The show started, I took my shots, and then I worked my way to the back to watch the rest of the show. Toward the middle of the set, the same woman came walking by - probably on a cocktail run - saw me standing in the back, and smirked. I think she thought that I had been banished to that position by club security. I shot her the ol' "you're number one" digit, and continued to watch the show.
Like I said, I love what I do, but sometimes I feel like I'm getting too old for this shite.