M Bear Ass yourself

So the other night the Sparky (the Spouse) and I went to a Jackson Browne concert (Shut up, the tickets were free).

Now, neither of us had a flipping clue who he is (Give us a break – the 70’s was nothing more than a cloud of funky-smelling smoke), so we Googled him. “Doctor My Eyes,” “Running on Empty,” Oh yeah, ok.

Not a big thrill, but the tickets were free and it was something to do on a Friday night.

Our seats were way over to the side, but not bad (they were free, remember?). And with the seats in front of us empty, we had a pretty unobstructed view of the stage. So far, so good.

About two minutes before the show started, two couples came stumbling in to fill the seats directly in front of us. There was Steve and his wife (didn’t catch her name), and another couple. Never got the second husband’s name, but he was sporting a snow white cottony afro sprayed to within an inch of shellac. With his deep tan and his white pouf, he reminded me of Lambchop.

Back to Steve- Steve is what you would call… how shall I put this… a loser.

You know that guy who never has been and never has any hope to be hip, cool or even close? The guy who is always just one beat off when everyone’s clapping?

Yeah, him. That’s Steve.

Mrs. Steve – well she was something else. She was better looking than Steve and from the looks of it, in her youth she was a bit of a party girl. She was feeling no pain and in that narcissistic way of drunks, oblivious to the fact that there were other people on her planet.

She was yakking with her BFF who was half a section away- yelling across another quiet couple (We’ll call them Couple #2).

Now, Couple #2 seemed to be an easy going pair. They appeared friendly (and sober) and just there to enjoy the music. But, they couldn’t even hold a conversation between them with Mrs. Steve leaning over them to shout to her friend.

Throughout the first act, Mrs. Steve continued to aggravate Couple #2 – When they complained about her yelling back and forth to her friend during the music, she whipped out a cell phone the size of a Nook and began texting – of course the white screen lit up the entire section where we were sitting with a radioactive glow. To the point where Mr. Couple #2 (who was sitting right next to Mrs. Steve) had to cover his eyes to deflect the bright light.

At intermission it hit the fan. Mrs. #2 confronted Mrs. Steve and told her that her behavior was rude and disrespectful – talking and texting during the performance.

I think what really set her (Mrs. Steve) off, was when she (Mrs. Couple #2) told her to shut up and have another Gin and Tonic. Is there anything that offends a drunk more than the implication that they are indeed, drunk? At this point, the two wives were on their feet and the folks behind us had begun to choose sides and take bets in the Mrs. Steve vs. Mrs. Couple #2 conflict (Our money was on Mrs. Couple #2).

Meanwhile, old sad sack Steve was attempting to make peace and shut his wife up. It was pitiful- he was pleading, begging her to hush up because she was embarrassing him.

And the more he tried to shut her up, the louder and angrier she became.

Mrs. Steve was pumped up with righteous indignation, she just had to repeat the whole drama to Mr. and Mrs. Lambchop who were apparently a bit hard of hearing.

It went something like this:

Mrs. Steve: “They got pissed that I was talking, so I texted and he said it was BLINDING him!”

Mr. Lambchop: “They got what?”

Mrs. Steve: “BLINDED – By my phone!”

Mrs. Lambchop: “Who were you calling?”

Mrs. Steve: “No I was talking and they got pissed so I texted and he said it was BLINDING him!”

Mr. Lambchop: “Tell them to Fuck off!”

This went on and on for almost 10 minutes like one of those never-ending video loops (Shortened for your sake).

We had a moment of hope when Steve pointed out the rows of empty seats behind us and suggested they move, but Mrs. Steve (encouraged by Mr. Lambchop “Fuck’em! Tell them to Fuck off!”), she got that spiteful, mean girl smile and refused.

“I have every right to be here. What, I can’t TALK? You don’t tell me what to do, STEVE! I’m going to stay right here and bust their stones! I’ll stand here, and sing and dance all night long if I feel like it, STEVE!”

Now, since I was the person sitting directly behind Mrs. Steve, I would’ve paid cash money to see Steve grow a pair. It would’ve been awesome to see him shake off his humiliation, stand up and say, “Sit down and shut the fuck up, you ignorant twat!”

But no, not Steve. He just didn’t have it in him.

Every 10 minutes or so, Steve would climb over everyone and make a break for the bar in the lobby. He’d return with two drinks (Mrs. Steve was drinking “Effin Vodka!” don’t ya know). My guess is that he most likely slammed one down and then bought two more each time he hit the bar because it wasn’t long at all until old Steve was pretty well toasted.

Steve, who started out this little adventure as the party-pooper, the drag, put everything he had into a last ditch effort to out- drink the wife.

And when it came to being an obnoxious drunk, Steve apparently had way more practice. At one point, he attempted to bond with Mr. Couple #2 by throwing an arm around his shoulders and whispering (loudly) “If they go at it, you grab yours and I’ll grab mine, ok Buddy?”

He was the life of the party. Go Steve, Go!

But she was crashing. As Steve got louder, Mrs. Steve got quieter. Now it was Steve who was dancing in his seat and screaming “WOOHOO!!” while she tried desperately to shut him up. The shift in dynamic was fascinating.

Through all of this, Jackson Browne sang his heart out. The crowd loved him and by the time he wrapped it up with “Running on Empty,” most were on their feet, riding the wave of nostalgia, completely unaware of the drama unfolding in Section 100.

That’s when we made a break for it.

Funny – when Son O’Mine went to college, he made a comment that he was glad to be leaving the drama of high school behind. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there is a large faction of people who are never able to evolve beyond the emotional maturity they have at age 15.

Those people like the Steves and the Lambchops who even in their 50's and 60's never outgrow the desire to show their ass in public.

He’ll figure it out soon enough.