Spring and summer mean many things to many people. To the DC9 reader, we assume, the sun-soaked days and humid nights in the middle of the year mean it's time to catch some outdoor music performances.
Maybe it's the larger, high-dollar festivals, like Austin City Limits Music Festival, for which you eagerly await. Perhaps you just like to hit as many of the locally based "Taste Of [Insert City Name Here]" and/or "[Insert City Name Here] Arts & Music Festivals" as you can.
Either way, each weekend seems to offer plenty of pseudo-rustic, allergy-filled musical delights for anyone who's interested.
Of course, that "anyone" includes the dreaded Lawn Chair People.
You know Lawn Chair People. They're heroes of half-assery, wizards of lazy weekend-warriorness.
Lawn Chair People are the ones who unfold their
weapons lawn chairs, plant them down at some point in front of a stage -- sometimes close, sometimes not so close -- and affix their self-entitled butts to that spot for the duration of an event.
They are usually unwilling to move, even if the tide of mobile, upright attendees engulfs them and their precious chair to the point of them being unable to actually see the stage any longer.
Heaven forbid you're with a group of friends that wants to catch a show together and you all find that your group is split in the middle by a couple of entrenched Lawn Chair People. It's only at this point when the still-simmering scenario begins to get awkward, really.
The real fun -- and when I say "fun," I mean the kind of fun that comes with waiting in line for a STD test at the local free clinic -- begins when the Lawn Chair People begin to make snide, purposely audible comments to other Lawn Chair People about the people that have the nerve to attend the show without a lawn chair and surround their base.
Commonplace in this situation are ingenious and scornfully delivered bon mots such as, "Boy, glad we got here so early. Now I can stare at the back of this guys cargo shorts!" and "Hey, don't they see we were here already? They can't just stand right there in front of us! Where are we, Sodom and Gomorrah?!?"
Sorry, Lawn Chair People. It just doesn't work like that. You're in everyone else's way, not the other way around. You're the assailant, not the victim.
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While still slightly on the Why-Are-You-Doing-This? side of things: Blanket People seem to generally understand that folks will intrude upon their space at least a bit. They grasp the concept that they are taking a crap-ton of real estate and that the corners of their blankey are going to get trounced as the day progresses.
While not ideal, it's easy to appreciate the fact that they seem to at least acknowledge this concert-going truth.
Lawn Chair People do typically arrive early, which isn't so bad, and shows a modicum of dedication to their idiocy, at least. But, thankfully, their time is coming. Some festivals have found ways to combat these scourges of community togetherness by posting signs and even outlining borders, highlighting the closest spot to where Lawn Chair People can set up their camps of frown-faced stubbornness. These are usually far removed from where the stage is set -- even if at the bigger festivals, it's still often not far enough.
But, hey, one victory at a time.