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.
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.
