To certain fellow audience members of last week’s concert at Lupo’s,
I think I can speak for all of us when I say this concert was a great time. The music was loud, the band was amped, and we all enjoyed ourselves. I, however, had a slightly more difficult time enjoying myself, because, well…of you.
Yes, I’m talking to you, Little Runt in front with the Droid. I can call you that, right? I specifically chose you to stand behind for precisely this unthreatening quality of yours, but you let me down. I get that you’re short, I really do, but that SnapChat video you spent two whole songs perfecting will not make your friends think you’re any taller. It just won’t! What it almost did was make me knee you in the back, because your hands were at exactly the level of my eyes and I needed those to properly identify all of Nick Petricca’s tattoos. Next time, instead of marring the concert experience for everyone with your “technology,” I suggest you live in the moment, little friend! Bask in the bass and share the memories with your friends, not links to your Facebook page to which you wasted no time posting those videos. YouTube exists; no one wants to watch your shitty version.
And I’m talking to you, Dad. You are a dad, right? You look like a dad. Sorry if you thought you were doing a good job fitting in–the belt holster for your phone gave you away…and the fact that you were just standing there, in the very center of the crowd, and did not appear to be very engaged in “Spend Your $$$,” which is a very catchy tune. This irked me, because I was very into “Spend Your $$$,” but now I had to feel all self-conscious and keep pulling my crop top down all the time. You further annoyed me because you reminded me of my own dad, I don’t like to be reminded of my dad when I’m connecting on an “emotional” level to the lead guitarist. Also, Dad, I’m assuming you’re only here because the preteen directly in front of you is your child. If so, I think it may be time to let the little bird fly free and next time take your wife to the bar literally ten feet behind the stage so that this concert floor can once again be a safe space for tipsy young people. If not, ew.
Don’t think I forgot about you, Tall Dude with the Backpack. As a tallish person myself, I feel it is my duty to inform you of the special responsibility that accompanies being a tall person at a concert. The concert satisfaction of many people is in your hands, my friend! For the people behind you, your head takes up approximately 40% of their range of vision of at any given time, which means your special job is to stand in one spot only, and not sway and bob like a kindergartener in the bathroom line. This way, people like me can move around you, and find a spot to stand unobstructed by your bushy mane. If you are no stranger to the theatre, you might relate this to the theory of “windows”! Unfortunately, I must also inform you that you failed miserably at your one job, and this contributed significantly to my angst.
And finally, Cute Couple to my right–I think it’s so cool that you found each other! But I don’t think it’s cool how often your pelvises kept finding each other, despite the presence of my leg in between them. We surely had not reached the right level of intimacy for that kind of contact, and I never thought I’d say this, but I think it might have been better if we had left a little room for Jesus!
FriendsAcquaintances, please know that I am writing this letter for your own benefit, and the benefit of all future concert-goers, in the hope that next time you attend a concert you will be able to be an active contributor to everyone’s fun, instead of what my grandma would refer to as “just one of those losers.” You’re better than this. Rock on.
Sincerely,
The girl who kneed you in the back
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