Those Unthinking, Rude Concert People

My wife signed us up for a season of concerts and shows, and this one was a jazz show. Neither of us had heard of the singer, or anyone in her band, but it was a weekend night out, away from the house and kids, something that 40-something parents look forward to doing. I even managed to talk my wife into wearing some sexy underwear. No guarantee of anything happening once we got home, of course, but maybe I was just helping her mentally get there. Any time away from the white cotton grannie panties is good time.

We got to the hall early, and took our seats a good 15 minutes before the show. I put my cell phone on silent, and we were ready. The show opened, and it was okay. I liked the band just vamping before the singer made her entrance, in some impossible sequined thing that sparkled like the very Milky Way. Big hair, big nails, big make-up, blue-white teeth visible even from the 5th row, she was up there doing her thing, and enjoying herself. Her singing was okay, nothing to knock me out, and definitely better than I could ever do, but it wasn't something that kept me on the edge of my seat.

She did about three numbers, about a quarter of the way into what I figured would be a one-hour set, when the Rude Concert People (RCP) entered.

First, they didn't wait until she was done with a song, and then quickly and discreetly enter the hall during the applause. No, they just came right on down the steps, all three of the large women, talking among themselves, cutting up, acting just as they did in the car, at home, on the way in. And this was no hockey arena turned jazz club. This was an intimate performance theater in a major urban center for the arts. We were relatively close, maybe only five rows, up and back, putting us probably about 35 feet from the performer and her band. No doubt they could pick up on this entrance. Maybe that's what the RCP wanted. That in itself was a rude enough start.

They slid into the row and seats immediately behind me and proceeded to get comfortable. That began with one asking a guy behind me, loudly, "You using that seat?" He whispered a negative, and they proceeded to spread right on out, an empty seat between each of the three of them. That, of course, meant they had to raise their voices to keep talking to each other, to hear each other over the din of the performance they had paid to see.

Then one kicked me in the back. Not a tap, a little nudge, but a nice hard kick right above where the back of my seat ended. No word of apology, not until I turned around and looked at her silently, and she managed to somehow force out a weak, reluctant, "Uh, sorry."

And then came the coats. It was late winter, so was cold outside. Where to put their coats? Me, I would think the two empty seats between them would be perfect, but apparently that wasn't good enough, as all of a sudden all three of their coats, hats, scarves and gloves landed on my outstretched arm into the empty aisle seat next to me. One big pile, just dropped down onto the seat like dirty laundry. And with a most definitely audible thump as the spring-loaded theater seat descended with the weight. Some of the gloves landed on the floor at my feet, and I made no move to pick them up. Did I catch the singer looking over in our direction? Maybe; I couldn't be sure.

Then once they were settled, one had to get out her phone and play with it. Then came the beeps and whistles as she did whatever she was doing, most likely text-messaging. That went on for an entire song. Then apparently they were all settled and ready to really enjoy the show, now almost 25 minutes old, of which they'd been present for about ten. They signaled their presence with gospel-style interjections such, "Hmmm, girl!" and "You sing it, chil'" as the performer on stage did her thing. No, not quiet vocalizations to signal their sync with the performer, how something she was doing was touching them, but loud, take-notice-of-me blurbs that everyone in the goddamn theater was hearing. And it was all going on right behind me, over my left shoulder. That went on for every song, for as long as they stayed at the show. And they were the only folks doing it.

Which was only about another fifteen minutes. With what I assumed to be about 15 minutes left in the one-hour set, they began their departure preparations. At least that ended the loud interjections directly into the show. More talking and huffing, discussion of post-show plans, where are the car keys, and then the jingling as they were located and gotten out. Then the reaching down to get the mass of coats and such from the seat next to me. (I was going to be goddamned if I was going to help pick up their junk, and they were wise not to ask me for some help.) So, the one on the end just got up out of her seat and picked up all of their junk, as the singer continued to do her professional thing.

Then all three stood and took forever to put on all of their garments as the song finished up. Through the applause and into the next song they dressed, and then rumbled loudly up and out of the theater, just the way they'd come in. Was it me, or did I sense a collective sigh of relief once they'd departed? I was very happy they'd gone.

This had to be just about the rudest bunch of folks I've ever encountered at a show. Sure, at rock concerts I've seen drunk hecklers and idiot stoners, but usually the performer takes them down or security knocks them down in no time. But these asshole-ettes were just at that level were they were incredibly obnoxious to those of us who wanted to see the show and disrespectful to the performers, but not quite to the level where direct action was warranted. I was hoping the performer would just stop mid-song and let them have it, but was disappointed.

And that's really the story. No ugly confrontation, and therefore no real resolution, other than them leaving. Just another observation on the total ignorance and likely selfishness of the rude and ignorant, that's all.