Don't be that person: Concert Edition

Concerts are great for people watching, if you're into that sort of thing. They're also great for mocking the people you're watching. I've come to the conclusion that no matter what concert I go to, Johnny Acoustic or Richard Rocker, there will always be "those people."

And here ... we ... go:

•The self-proclaimed super fan who must yell every lyric of the song because that means he likes the artist more than you do.

•The tools – most often stereotypical frat guy – who talk during every song. They make it apparent they’ve seen the artist in 37 different cities, but you can tell they aren’t enjoying the current set because it’s from the new album they didn’t even know existed. When the artist says something “funny” or something not in the original lyrics, they laugh hysterically and repeat the line to each other. Yes, we all heard it. Now go bong a beer. (Let me be clear in that I have nothing against cool fraternity guys. Just the ones who are DBs.)

•The obnoxious drunk girls who dress up and wear fancy shoes when there’s a torrential downpour outside. They’re convinced the artist will ask them to come up on stage or meet him backstage. Good luck, you idiots. Hope that pneumonia treats you well.

•The doped up crazy dancer who needs a 10-foot radius for their moves. (This dancing space will be given to them either voluntarily or not for fear of losing an eyeball from any and every sudden movement. I can appreciate someone who’s enjoying the entertainment, but this one skews on the extreme side … during every. Single. Song.)

•The people (or in my most recent concert’s case, the lone chick) who wait in eager anticipation for the one lyric that talks about smoking pot, just so they can wildly scream to let everyone around them know they smoke pot, too! In their minds, this gives them an automatic “in” with the artist. They’re totally friends, now. (I groan especially loud when these people are recorded on live CDs. Case in point: any Dave Matthews Band live album.)

•The people who attempt to make tradition of holding up their fingers when any lyric includes numbers. Ex: 4, 3, 2, 1. I have been to concerts in which this action is tradition for specific songs and it’s fine. But don’t try to start it, buddy. You’re not that cool.

•The guy who goes to concerts alone, closes his eyes during the sets and bobs his head in musical appreciation. Occasionally he’ll break out of his trance to play air drums during a particularly awesome part of the song. I shouldn’t be so judging, but quite frankly, this guy is usually a creepster. There’s nothing wrong with going to a performance alone. Just don’t be so Crispin Glover about it.

•The 7-footer who thinks it’s appropriate to stand front and center. Look, I know you think you have rights just like the rest of us. But “the rest of us” took a vote and decided you lose privileges because of God’s sense of humor to make you a giant. You could see the band from across the street, so practice some manners, please.

•The dude who’s too cool to listen to the music. Not sure why they even bother showing up to the concert, but they’ve got that “this is lame” look on their face. And you can forget about joining in on any of the group activities: clapping, singing along, having fun in general.

•The poor sap who brought his first date to a concert. Theoretically, this was a kickass idea. But treat this venue like going to a movie when you want to get to know someone. Not going to work when you have to yell (whisper) any topic of conversation and said conversation is a total of three sentences. At the end of the night, all you know about her is that she “loves this song!” And we’re all frustrated because when you lean over to chat, you keep blocking the window view we’ve created in order to see the band.

•The artist who has a stuffed, three-headed dog from Harry Potter displayed on a guitar amp. Oh wait, that’s just Ben Folds because he’s awesome like that.

R.I.P.

I hate to be the bearer of terrible news. Well, sometimes I don't. Most of the time I don't. Anyway.

Zima has been discontinued.

So, rush out to your local liquor stores, stalk up on the "malternative beverage" (and accompanying Jolly Ranchers), pour some for your homies and guzzle the rest with fond memories flowing like the rains of Kansas City. Or put it in your panic room. (For obvious reasons.)


http://www.adweek.com/aw/content_display/news/client/e3ic7f8e4e0a6055a5380ac9b77e000cf02

P.S. Has anyone actually ever sipped on this stuff? I think it just stuck around for our mocking enjoyment. I mean, if you do drink it, I'm sure you have a very good reason. So please don't get your malternative panties in a twist.

IOU

I have neglected my dear blog. The one I had been getting so good at updating. (Relatively speaking, anyway.) The one I was kind of proud of, even if only a few read it.

But this glimmer will have to suffice until my non-work-writing-brain is back from its vacation. And by "vacation" I mean "forced into submission by my occupational writing."

Larry David must have a new show ... Part Three

The final installment. (Kind of like the Final Countdown, but not as melodically pleasing to the ears.) Friends, here's my final proof that there must be cameras in my life. Larry David, Candid or otherwise. They're there. And so I begin my rant with ... Sprint.

I have to preface the story with the mere fact that I've employed Sprint as my cellular phone carrier since the age of 16. That's almost nine years, folks. And in that time, I've had no complaints. I say this only because I know it's commonplace to gripe about cell phone companies, namely Sprint.

Moving on. A few weeks ago, I was sitting on my couch ... computer beside me, endless episodes of Project Runway and Shear Genius gracing my television with their presence. J was at his house, doing what he always does when I'm not there. Being productive. Anywho, in my peripheral vision, I notice an instant message blinking. It's the J man. So it's about 8 p.m. and I realize it's the first I have heard from him since we got off the phone at 5:30 post-workday. Not typical but I was wrapped up in Bravo TV goodness so it slipped my mind. J asks me why my phone's off. Phone is also sitting next to me. I look at it ... no missed calls. Phone is on. So I relay my phone status information and thus the madness begins.

I try to call Jason and an automated message tells me "Your account cannot be validated. Please contact customer service." My immediate thought is that Mama Jane forgot to pay the bill. Problem is, Mama Jane does not check her email regularly and I have no land line to call her ... so J is assigned that job. We find out that Mom has paid the bill. Well shoot.

I call customer service. This single phone call is a whole new rant in and of itself, but I will spare you. (You're welcome.) Basically, it took about five minutes to explain to the woman that I am the daughter of the account holder. Our phones are on the same account, but both under my mom's name. Tricky concept, I know, but she finally figured it out. (Actually, she probably didn't.) When I tell her what the problem is, she asks for the answer to my security question so she could continue on. Ruh roh. I wasn't for certain but I tried to answer the question. "Tried" being the operative word. I had to hang up, and have J call mom again for the answer.

I call customer service again. I have the answers in order to "open sesame" so we proceed. Until the woman asks me for the other phone number she can reach me at so she can reprogram my phone. Yeah ... no land line. Welp. That sucks.

The next day at work, I spend about an hour on the phone with the first customer service rep. She tries several things (or really tries one thing over and over again), to no avail. On the last attempt, she informed me that there is a nationwide outage and it could take two hours to fix itself. (Really? Because I'm pretty sure the mini-survey I took of KC Sprint users proved this statement false. Whatevs.) I also take this time to let the woman know that I would like a refund on my account. She says they aren't issuing any at this time. (Great.) I try my phone four hours later, just to give some padding time, it doesn't work.

I call again - I believe we're on customer service phone call number four - and the guy tries the same thing on my phone as the lady did earlier that day. He's the lucky one to tell me that now it's going to be up to four hours for my phone to start working.

Five hours later, I try again. Nope-a-roo. Customer service phone call number five occurs. (At this point, I'm at home. Frustrated that my personal time is being eaten up by cell phone drama. At least get me out of work... rude.) This rep does the same "reprogramming" with my phone that I've done at least fifty times earlier in the day. And I inform her that it's not going to work, because it hasn't thus far. She still tells me to do it. And what do you know ... it doesn't work! So she tells me she's putting me on hold to talk to an "Advanced Tech Representative." While being on hold for what ended up being 37 minutes, J's cell phone is losing its battery juice. Who can blame the poor fellow. So I have to go out to J's car because that's where the charger resides.

This is me holding. (Because LOL Cats make every story better.)



Finally, Mr. Advanced gets on the call. I repeat my issue for the gazillionth time, and he repeats the troubleshooting steps for the gazillionth time. Only this time, the ending instruction is different. I ask him, "Aren't I supposed to press the pound button at the end?" He says, "No, press 'OK.'" I do this and my phone is trying to save the numbers I've just punched in as a phone number. I tell him this and he's like, "Oh ... what did you say earlier? Pound?" ... "Yep" ... "Yeah, try pound then." Ok, really? Did I just tell Advanced Tech Geek how to do his job? Yeah. I did.

After numerous attempts, he is unable to help me. He tells me he can do some sort of hard "wipe" (I'll show you wipe...), but I will lose all my information. Nope. Not an option. So he tells me that I'll have to go into a Sprint store to get a new phone. (Let it be noted that during Customer phone call number four I asked if I should do this and was told, "No, that won't help at this point.") I then ask him about a refund to my account and he said he would have to call back tomorrow with the refund his manager tells him he's allowed to give me. (Fast forward ... he never called. I never got a refund.)

The next day, I leave work a little early to get to the Sprint store. I get there, the manager is very friendly and helpful ... tools around with my phone a bit and he tells me he's going to get me a new phone. He's gone for a while. Oh guess what! They don't have my phone in stock at the store. Luckily, the employee feels very badly about it. (Apparently I love transferring my misery to others.) He makes a phone call to a store to have them hold a phone for me and even writes out directions for me to get there.

I make may way to the other store... about 15 minutes away. A little peeved since the direction I'm headed is going to cause me to get stuck in Friday traffic on the way home. Gross. I'm feeling a little relieved, however, because I think to myself this messy situation will soon be resolved. The pessimist in me says the only way it could get worse is if I were to be pulled over because my plates "aren't in the system." Wah wah.

I get to the store, walk in and am shortly after informed that "all the Sprint store systems are down. Nothing can be done until they are back up and we're not sure when that will be." I mean REALLY?! Really.

Blah blah blah, the rest is history. I get my phone later that night after drowning my sorrows in boneless buffalo wings. And now ... my saga is complete. (Until the next one comes around, anyway.)