Today was a pretty good day. I did some work for a client, ate some tasty food, hung out with Lisa, and saw some music. I was hoping I could ride my bike to the concert…
Oh, did I mention that I finally replaced my stolen bike? Yes, I did. Ross was gracious enough to lend me his bike (an expensive-looking, but cheap and difficult, but a bike nonetheless, Huffy) which he used at Burning Man and nowhere else. While I am indebted to him for it, I’m also a bike snob and couldn’t stand riding it. I finally found something by searching on the venerable Craig’s List, which led me to a guy who lives not two blocks from here, and sold me a good bike at a very good price. Whoopee! Now I just have to find some trails and things and start really riding again. If this bike is going to get stolen, I at least want to put some miles on it first. barf
Anyway, I wanted to ride to the show, but was too nervous about leaving it outside from 8pm – 12am (which is about the time frame in which my last bike got stolen), so I bailed on that and drove. The show was great. Ben and I went separately but got the chance to talk a bit before and after the show, which is always a pleasure. I’m enjoying Dave Weckl more every time I see him, either because he’s mellowing out over the years, or I’m just getting more capable of grasping what he’s doing (probably both).
Before the second half, those of us who were at the first half had to clear out and form a line outside. If there was room, they’d let us in for the second half free of charge. Cool.
After I’ve been waiting there twenty minutes or so (by myself—Lisa has to get up early early for work these days), these two guys kind of slink up next to me. There’s at least twenty people behind me, but they are trying to sneak into the line, apparently afraid they won’t get in or something. I stew. Maybe I’m overly sensitive about this sort of thing, but I thought they were being extremely rude. They didn’t ask if they could jump in line there, didn’t say anything. They just stood there pretending no one was going to notice them—and spitting on the ground right in front of their and my feet. Yum. I stew some more, really wanting to say something, but not having the cajones (or is it conejas?) to do it.
Finally one of them asks the time of some of the people in front of us. No one but me has the time. My heart racing (these guys are roughly my age, but are bigger than me and look like the sort of people I used to fear in high school), I ask them if they know anyone there and if they are planning to cut in front of all these other, more patient, people.
“Well, the guy said we should just stand here. We were in the other [ticketed/10pm show/wrong] line and he told us to come over here.”
“To the middle of the line? In front of these other people?”
“He told us to come over here. If those other people had a problem with it, they’d say something.”
Arg. I don’t think I sounded too forceful, not nearly as much as I’d like, but I said my piece about how rude they were acting to everyone else. They, obviously, didn’t care. I finally gave up, told them fine, just wait there and forget about it.
I heard some grumblings that I thought might be directed at me, said “excuse me?” and was ignored. Great. I’m going to have to deal with these two dudes until the show, possibly after.
Except that after about ten minutes, they left. I thought they went to the back of the line, but I didn’t dare look for fear of making eye contact again. As far as I can tell, they just gave up, figuring they didn’t want to deal with the short, bitchy character (that’s me), and they probably wouldn’t get in anyway. I didn’t see them again.
I asked someone after I got back in whether they had needed to turn anyone away, and they didn’t. I was half expecting those guys to be waiting for me on some dark corner after the show: “So, Mr. We-Can’t-Cut-In-Line…” I got home safely and soundly, though.
Of course, I felt so guilty about what had happened that I did everything I could to be extra-nice to everyone else I saw. Big tip for the waitress, trading seats with people around me when they asked. I probably would have done those things anyway, but it felt especially urgent.
I hate to think I would have caused those guys to lose interest in the music. That probably wasn’t it, but I still have a nagging feeling of being petty overwhelming my satisfaction at having spoken my mind. I guess I start reminding myself of people who nag other people for stepping out of line. That’s probably not really the problem here, since they really didn’t have any right to step in front of all those other people (especially just by standing there hoping no one would notice, instead of asking outright). Still, I still feel kind of guilty about it.
Despite all this stuff, I’ve had a good day. Let there be no mistaking that. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken up about this sort of everyday rudeness to anyone before, though, so it certainly has me thinking. Did you notice?