Why aren’t you dancing?
Forms of expressions are different.
Doesn’t affect you.
My sister and I got last-minute tickets to today’s Dropkick Murphys show. Their shows around St. Patrick’s day are EPIC, and I’d gone last year and had a blast. My sister also quite likes the band, and since last year she’s really wanted to go. We managed to get some floor tickets for a not-terribly-unreasonable price, and found a decent place to stand. Unfortunately, people can’t totally a) mind their own business; or b) be mindful of personal space.
Towards the middle of the show, my sis and I were kind of swaying, kind of bouncing, and singing along a bit, when this chick behind us tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Come on, ladies, dance!” I rolled my eyes a bit and ignored her. I rather dislike people who try to get me to be more enthused–I am just not an externally enthusiastic person. Never have been, never will be, and I am totally a-okay with that. I’ll get excited about things, sure, but I’m not a fist-pumping, sweat-flailing, mosh-pit enthusiast (though, uh, there have been incidents, but those involve certain people and certain substances and certain situations, none of which really involve my little sister, for eff’s sake). I thought that was the end of it, but noooo. Later on in the show she tapped me again, this time to ask why I wasn’t more into the show, why did I look so miserable, and so on. I told her that I am just very impassive, and that she was lucky I was even moving. And that it was nice of her to be concerned but I was enjoying myself and not everyone expresses themselves through dance. I think she finally got it, but I have spent a bit too much time brooding about it. Really, why can’t people just mind their own business?
This incident makes me think of how I’m hardly ever hit on when walking on the street, or how people don’t ask me for directions. I guess I have a very good bitchface; I am unsure if this is good or bad. Considering that I hate being harassed on the street (and that I am one of those people who’s dumb enough to stop when someone accosts me at those stupid mall carts), this is probably a good thing.
For the record, I also hate people telling me to smile. Fortunately that hasn’t happened in a while.
The other irritating thing was that we were standing behind this pair of older men, one of whom was trying for the title of Most Enthusiastic Fan. Good lord. The guy knew all the words. And he was fist-pumping and lurching back and forth, sweat beading on his bald crown and soaking what little fringe of hair he had left. I thoroughly appreciated his enthusiasm (in fact, I told Nosy Chick that he was dancing enough for my sister and me), but would have enjoyed it more had he been even remotely cognizant that other people were at the concert too, and were standing in fairly close proximity to him. My sister and I almost got clocked by his aggressive fist-pumpery and erratic rocking-out a number of times, and his friend, though not rocking out, was similarly oblivious, stepping back into me a number of times. Is it wrong that I really wanted them to step into me so I could shove an elbow into the kidneys?
Lesson learned here: Dropkick Murphys concerts should NOT be attempted without copious application of Guinness.