Welcome to today’s second installment of “Hey, Asshole!“, in which we share your heartfelt, rage-driven descriptions of fellow audience members’ asinine antics. We have some amazing entries today, so click through to hear these touching stories–especially the one about the two drunk girls who desperately wanted to play with Sufjan’s inflatable toys .
We begin with two nearly must-read accounts of Saturday’s Sufjan Stevens show at Town Hall, the first from commenter SupraCute:
i was sitting in my comfy town hall cushion seats, surrounded by mellow 14-year-old sufjan fans and their parents, excited for the show. about 15 minutes in, these two completely wasted misshape-ian wannabes fumble to their seats in the row in front of mine. for the next hour-and-a-half, they proceed to disrupt every single person around them. digital cameras with bright screens, obnoxious texting, yelling out to sufjan how beeeeeeeeautiful he was, calling friends to play them “totes favorite song” by reaching their arms out with their phones until they were elbowing the people in front of them. one girl was more wasted than the other and proceeded to lay across both seats passed out.
Readers Elizabeth Thompson and Jessica Suarez take it from there:
The best part, though, was when drunk girl no.1 made a lengthy bathroom trip and left drunk girl no.2, who had since passed out in her seat, to slump over across her arm rest while the young boy next to her gaped. The band played “That Was the Worst Christmas Ever!”, during which inflatable Santa Clauses were thrown into the audience and tossed around like beach balls. One of them hit still-passed-out drunk girl no.2, who, after sleeping through loudly dropping her cellphone on the floor, everyone assumed was out for the count. She sat unresponsive as the Santa lay across her lap, but when the father of the boy next to her tried to grab it for his son, she bolted upright, snatching it, and tucked it under her head as a pillow.
Drunk Girl 1 returned during the final song, “The Man of Metropolis Steal Our Hearts, ” only for inflatable Superman dolls to also be thrown into the audience. Drunk girl no.2, still motionless, was pelted with two Supermen which drunk girl no.1 quickly shoved beneath their seats while the children in their row watched. They then ran out, not staying to watch the encore, so drunk girl no.2 could vomit all over the front steps of Town Hall. We couldn’t grab a picture, since they left before the end of the show, but they would have been in row K, seats 117 and 119.
Elizabeth and I are both nice girls, kind to strangers, call our parents regularly, etc., but if we ever see those girls again, we’re going to stab them in their throats.
We don’t want to encouarge violence, but really, could someone track these two girls down? We’d like to get their side of the story, and at least help Jessica, Elizabeth and Supra get the inflatable Santa toys they deserve.
Next up, from reader sissyneck:
We went to see Damien Jurado open for Rocky Votolato in Provo, UT. Rocky’s set was predictably white-boy-with-an-electric-guitar boring, but at during one song, the guy next to me pulls a harmonica out of his pocket and plays along note-for-note with Rocky’s harmonica solo. The look of “i’m so damned awesome” exhilaration on his face as he replaced his harmonica completely erased any annoyance that I felt. In fact, I’m not even sure that this should be counted as a “hey, asshole” moment, because it was easily the most enoyable moment of the set.
Our sympathies, but we’re pretty sure that was just a hobo with bad taste. Finally, from commenter chrisb:
Last night [Oct. 3] I saw Roger Waters perform at the Cricket Pavilion in Phoenix, Arizona. Surprisingly, the most obnoxious people there were not the three fat geezers in front of us who stood the entire show, even during boring crap like “Leaving Beirut.” No, we had the unfortunate displeasure of sitting in front of the Unauthorized Pink Floyd Historian. He talked incessantly. Throughout the entire show, he rattled on to his buddy about who sang each track on the original album, Waters or David Gilmour, provided an extensive overview of Pink Floyd’s court battles, and even relayed Pink Floyd legends including the story of Syd Barret showing up in the studio during the recording of “Wish You Were Here” and the time Roger Waters spit at a fan. If I had just one more beer (and perhaps bigger balls), I would have turned around and said, “Hey asshole, if you like Pink Floyd so much, why don’t you shut the fuck up and listen.” Still, it was a great show. Expected more lasers.
And we’re pretty sure that was just David Gilmour.
Thanks to everyone for their great tales. Remember to send your cherished concert experiences to asshole@idolator.com.
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