This S— is Bananas*
Juli, my best friend from junior high, bought us No Doubt tickets for my birthday. (*Yes, I’m aware that “Hollaback Girl” is Gwen Stefani solo and not No Doubt… but I think by the end you’ll agree. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.)
Seriously, junior high. She’s one of the most loyal friends I’ve ever had. This is the girl who wrote me letters all the time when I moved away for high school, who drove over 400 miles to visit me twice as a teenager, who threw me a huge surprise party for my 18th birthday when I moved back, who still stood by me when I decided I didn’t believe what she and all of our mutual friends believed, and who was my maid of honor over five years ago. A lifetime friend.
She is also, by means of purchasing the concert tickets, inadvertently and circuitously responsible for my first physical confrontation ever.
The show was SO much fun. I am not a huge concert goer, but this one was amazing. Mostly because I knew all the words to everything – we sang, we danced, we yelled the lyrics to “I’m Just a Girl” along with thousands of other people. The band was super pumped and incredibly entertaining, they look like they still love what they’re doing. Gwen pulled up a couple people from the pit to take pictures, and it was obvious that she really loves her fans. Great show.
At the very end, the drummer threw a drumstick to some girl in the pit, who made the unfortunate decision to try to leave by walking up the aisle closest to us. The two (large) girls sitting next to me took this opportunity to JUMP HER.
A short side note: where I come from? Girls don’t fight. Heck, most of the guys I know haven’t ever REALLY been in a fight before. And they’ve certainly never tried to gang up on someone two to one and wrestle them to the ground over concert memorabilia.
They struggle over it for a good two minutes, which of course means they are stepping ALL over me and pushing both of us into the sweaty 350 pound man on Juli’s other side. Finally, a security guy comes, makes everybody let go, and confiscates it. So that’s the end of that.
Except. I bent down to get my stuff, and Crazy Girl #2? Is standing on my clutch.
So I tap her on the leg.
You see where this is headed.
CG#2: “Don’t f—in’ touch me!”
Me: “But you’re standing on my stuff!”
And then she shoved me. And I sat there with my mouth agape, somehow in disbelief that someone who had just gotten into a fullblown wrestling match over a drumstick would resort to shoving me.
I am a little naive.
(In hindsight, yes, I realize that reasoning with this particular person was a little ridiculous. What exactly was I expecting? “Sorry, I didn’t realize I had trampled your clutch during my earlier scuffle! Here, let me dust that off for you!”)
Juli, wonderful friend that she is, pulled me up, called them lunatics, and got us safely on the other side of the 350 pound man (who, by the way, was LAUGHING AT ME.)
Bananas. But it was still a terrific birthday present.