Jerrod Niemann, Augusta, GA, March 2011
For the record, I love Jerrod Niemann. Not just that whole “oh, his music is so great and he’s so talented” kind of love. Nope, I want him to have my babies. (Yeah, I know what I said. Why must I be the one to suffer?)
That being said, I’m not one of those scary “I want you to have my babies” type stalker. I don’t tell him to his face that I want him to have my babies. No, I do it across the perceived distance of the Internet, which is much saner.
Just call me Loco Ono.
Now that my feelings for J-Rod have been established, let us move on to the point. Recently, Mr. Niemann was playing a show in my local honky-tonk, and I was front and center. (Nice view, but it did a number on my neck.) I was happily “hey hey heying” along to One More Drinkin’ Song when I noticed a disturbance in my general vicinity.
Said disturbance was about eleventy feet tall, though my perception may be skewed, and wearing a Carolina Tarholes shirt. Which, for the record, is not a great way to get on my good side. I am decidedly ABC – Anybody But Carolina.
Alas, more digression. This Tall Drink of Acid Rain had forced his way through the crowd to the stage area and for what felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to 10 or 15 minutes, stood there, hand outstretched, yelling “Jerrod!” and Jerrod didn’t so much as blink in his direction. Still, this a-hole stood there, hand out, his bony arm dangling in my sister’s face, hoping for a little contact – from anyone! It didn’t have to be Jerrod; he clearly wasn’t picky.
In case you have NEVER been to a concert, let me say this: Male artists almost never grasp hands with male audience members. They will fist bump or give a genial slap, but if a guy’s hand is the only one up there, they are not going to take it in theirs. The hands of female audience members, sure, but not so much with the guys.
Ah, but then he saw me! And our exchange went thusly:
Douchebag: What’s your name?
Me: Why?
Douchebag: What’s your name? (Apparently, he was confused and thought I said what. Dumbass.)
Me: WHY?
Douchebag: So I can get Jerrod’s attention.
Me: Why would my name get Jerrod’s attention?
Douchebag: Trust me, if anybody can get his attention, it’s you.
Let’s let that soak in, shall we?
If anybody can get his attention, it’s you. Now, what I actually said is this: “I don’t want that kind of attention, thanks.” And summarily ignored the guy and he went away.
Now, when he said he wanted to use my name to get Jerrod’s attention, I knew what he was thinking. Awesome, a golden criportunity is sitting right there! She must have no self-respect whatsoever and will willingly give up her name in order to get a little attention from someone like me.
I am not stupid. I will not give my name to some guy in a bar who just randomly asks for it. And, of course, I knew he wanted something as soon as he paid me any attention. So, I gave him the quickest answer to make him go away to limit the amount of time he interrupted my Niemann-viewing. But, there were a number of options going through my head, so the conversation could have ended in one of the following ways.
Really? Because you’ve been standing there for 20 minutes trying to get his attention, and you aren’t doing so hot.
Bitch, please. Any attention I get from that man I am sure as hell not sharing with you.
What makes me so special that I am guaranteed to get his attention? Squirm, you squirrely eyed bastard.
And, my personal favorite:
Fuck off, fucker.
Yeah, sometimes I do get a little more attention because I happen to use a wheelchair. (Of course, that could also be because I manage to get to a show early enough to guarantee myself a spot at the stage. Go figure: An artist will pay more attention to the people who are standing/sitting at the front for the entire show. Who knew?) But, I don’t going looking for it. And I definitely don’t let a total stranger play the pity card in my name. I don’t even let my friends and family play the pity card in my name.
That guy could have totally ruined my night. But, that was my future gestational carrier up on stage, so I was happy. Not to mention, karma can really suck. Someday, the way that guy tried to use me will bite him on the ass. And it will hurt like a sumbitch.