The dick at the end of the row

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As I mentioned in a previous post, last night we saw Elton John in concert.

It was a great time. The spirit was one of love and compassion and togetherness and … and … and …

There was the guy.

The one pictured above.

He sat in the first seat of our row. He was muscular and square-headed and significantly bigger than the general arena populous. And he could not have behaved like a bigger dick.

Whenever someone had to enter the row, he refused to budge. Not only that, he would glare your way. Like, “How dare you want to find your seat” or “How dare you enter three minutes after Elton began singing ‘Levon.'” Or, “Hey, I got here first. This is my spot now.” It was a painfully obvious suggestion of, “Fuck off.” And it sucked.

Were I the only person to feel slighted, perhaps this blog entry wouldn’t exist. But the wife—who arrived before I did—noted his assholeness. Then my mother in law noted his assholeness. And my sister-in-law noted his assholeness. And, sure, maybe he was just having a rotten day. Maybe his dog died and his dentist called and the Knicks lost once again. Maybe he was just in a terribly terrible mood.

But I’m thinking no.

I’m thinking he was, frankly, a dick.

PS: And here’s the odd thing. From time to time I’d look down and he’d be singing along with an Elton song. To see a guy like that belting out “Tiny Dancer”—weird.

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