Blabbering Yayhoos
What is it with these people who go to outdoor concerts and talk through the whole ding-dong thing? How is that not rude to everyone who’s trying to listen? And egregiously and unpardonably rude to the performers? It makes my blood boil.
Why do these people go to a concert if they’re not going to listen to the music? It doesn’t make sense. It's a concert. At a concert people listen to music. It's that simple. If they want to talk, go anywhere else and talk. They could even stay in the park and eat their “picnic” of Cool Ranch Doritos and Merlot, but please, philistines, move away from the music.
B and I had to leave a concert being given by the Portland Festival Symphony at Peninsula Park tonight because the blabbering yayhoo quotient was simply through the roof. In the past, I’ve been known to get up and start kicking ass and taking names—walking up to people and telling them to BE QUIET (sotto voce, of course). They always think I’m overreacting and being unreasonable. I’ve seen them exchange looks with each other after I’ve walked away and it’s clear they think I’m a crazy uptight bitch. They spend 30 seconds rolling their eyes and snickering about me and then resume talking about the size 40 fly fishing nymph they just bought. Oh, OK. Now I understand--news that important can’t wait until intermission!
If I were in charge of the universe, I’d have them killed.
Not really. But I’m just trying to convey the fact that blatantly inconsiderate behavior like that makes me almost blind with rage. There's absolutely no excuse for it.
I have tried to raise my threshold, but I haven’t had much success. That’s what I tried to do tonight. I did notice something quite amusing as I sought visual stimuli to drown out the crowd chatter. There was this kid selling ice cream. I saw him scarf down three different popsicles and a drumstick in the space of about an hour. At one point a guy from the hot dog stand came over and they did a little barter: a drumstick for a bag of BBQ Fritos.
It was pretty funny to watch. Every time I looked over at the ice cream kid, he was eating something new. It got kind of awkward at times as he tried to count out change with one hand while holding a melting SpongeBobsicle in the other hand. I have to wonder what kind of a pay arrangement he made with his boss. Was he being paid solely in popsicles? I wonder. That would explain his all-you-can-eat approach to sales. Otherwise, he was sure eating up the profits.
Why do these people go to a concert if they’re not going to listen to the music? It doesn’t make sense. It's a concert. At a concert people listen to music. It's that simple. If they want to talk, go anywhere else and talk. They could even stay in the park and eat their “picnic” of Cool Ranch Doritos and Merlot, but please, philistines, move away from the music.
B and I had to leave a concert being given by the Portland Festival Symphony at Peninsula Park tonight because the blabbering yayhoo quotient was simply through the roof. In the past, I’ve been known to get up and start kicking ass and taking names—walking up to people and telling them to BE QUIET (sotto voce, of course). They always think I’m overreacting and being unreasonable. I’ve seen them exchange looks with each other after I’ve walked away and it’s clear they think I’m a crazy uptight bitch. They spend 30 seconds rolling their eyes and snickering about me and then resume talking about the size 40 fly fishing nymph they just bought. Oh, OK. Now I understand--news that important can’t wait until intermission!
If I were in charge of the universe, I’d have them killed.
Not really. But I’m just trying to convey the fact that blatantly inconsiderate behavior like that makes me almost blind with rage. There's absolutely no excuse for it.
I have tried to raise my threshold, but I haven’t had much success. That’s what I tried to do tonight. I did notice something quite amusing as I sought visual stimuli to drown out the crowd chatter. There was this kid selling ice cream. I saw him scarf down three different popsicles and a drumstick in the space of about an hour. At one point a guy from the hot dog stand came over and they did a little barter: a drumstick for a bag of BBQ Fritos.
It was pretty funny to watch. Every time I looked over at the ice cream kid, he was eating something new. It got kind of awkward at times as he tried to count out change with one hand while holding a melting SpongeBobsicle in the other hand. I have to wonder what kind of a pay arrangement he made with his boss. Was he being paid solely in popsicles? I wonder. That would explain his all-you-can-eat approach to sales. Otherwise, he was sure eating up the profits.
posted by Rozanne at 9:16 PM
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