The International Day of Peace

I wanted to take the moral high ground. I wanted to believe I was a more patient, tolerant and forgiving man. I wanted to be more like Jesus. But, I went to the U2 concert last week, and the guy next to me was a FUCKING ASSHOLE!
Plus, now I have a rash fast spreading across my abdomen like a stampede of infection.

From the moment he sat down, Crusher knew he was trouble. (For those of you who don't keep up, Crusher is my new, hot girlfriend - and you will see, is destined to live up to her namesake.)

I was basking in the joy of my free parking spot, right next to the $20 lot, and the very righteous section 204, row 2 seats I had scored at the last minute, thanks to some failing Ticketbastard systems. An absolutely beautiful view of the Vertigo tour stage at the United Center in Chicago, we endured Dashboard Confessional with our $5 pops and waited for Bono and the boys to make an appearance. That's when HE came.

With his friend, who might as well have been a deaf mute. Phillip. With flailing limbs, clutching his $40 tour shirt and yelling into his cell phone with that Eastern European mouth of his. He busted through me and Crusher's legs and plopped down on my left. A flurry of activity from the get-go.

"U-TOOOOOOOO! U-TOOOOOOO! Fdsklafjsjaweo U2 jwaerjfdslkfasflskd djlfla fklasdfkajsjksd U2 kdfksajdfkladf sofas;lkdfj askdfs U-TOOOOOOOO!"
(Obviously I don't speak the language, but that's what it sounded like to me.)
In our ears, and everyone's around us, at levels that would soon rival Dublin's finest. I guess we were all non-confrontational pacifists, because we sat and took the abuse until the lights dimmed and the background sound of the Arcade Fire's "Wake Up" ushered in the opening strains of "City of Blinding Lights"

Actually, there was a small moment of conflict before U2 took the stage. Crusher had reached her - soon to be tested - limit, and tapped Phillip on the leg, admonishing him to "quiet it down please". He did, for about 15 seconds. Then, in an effort to diffuse the situation, turned to me (not Crusher - this guy was pretty smart) and told me how excited he was to be here. Told me his name was Phillip. And shook my hand. I was so shocked that he spoke English, that I completely forgot, for the duration of that 15 seconds, what a pain in the ass he was being before. Even Crusher felt bad. But when those first cords rang out from the Edge's guitar, that's when everything fell apart.

I feel bad. I really do. Like I missed what was a truly great concert. I had seen U2 back in 1997 on the Pop Mart tour, but this was Crusher's first time, and it was essentially ruined by this retarded Phillip guy. Now, I know that is not a very pc thing to say, but looking back on his behavior that evening, it was so preposterous that I thought he really might be retarded. Now I just say it because it's one more mean thing to heap onto the thick skull of this fucking asshole. ( I warned you I was taking the wide road on this one.)

Anyway, less than a minute into this unbelievably spectacular opening of U2's last night, of 6, in Chicago, Phillip grabs me, turns me around, (away from Bono and this blinding eye candy of bliss), and shoves a digital camera in my hand, yelling at me to "TAKE PICTURE, TAKE PICTURE!" I was so taken back, that I took the camera and pointed it toward the stage to do just that. That's when Phillip grabbed me, turned me around and yelled, "NO! OF US! OF US!" He wanted me to stop, focus and take a picture of him and his little Eastern European buddy against the backdrop of pitch black and a sea of faceless people, while only the greatest rock band in the world had just begun there set, which me and Crusher were trying to enjoy at $110 a pop. *Remember I just came off of being unemployed for about a year - this will become very important later in the story.

Okay,stop for a second. Has the severity of what this guy was requiring of me in that moment set in yet? This is that preposterous behavior I was talking about. Anyway, I took the damn picture. I don't know who was more pissed in that moment. Me, or the countless people around us who were thinking we were all idiots. One click and guess what the screen revealed on the back of the digital camera? Pitch black. Go figure. I handed it back to Phillip and said, "It came out black. Later. Just deal with it later."

Surprisingly, this seemed to suffice, until U2 revved into "Vertigo" a few minutes later. That's when everyone in section 204, 205 and 206 heard not, "uno, dos, tres...", but "U-TOOOOOOOOOOOOO! U-TOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Phillip was at it again. Now, for those of you who think I was out to squelch a harmless fan's excitement, did I happen to mention that he was actually louder than U2?

This went on. I couldn't enjoy the experience. None of us could. He was obliterating everything holy about this evening with his insolence. It was during "Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own" that I decided I couldn't take it anymore. Usually, I let a whole lot slide before I make a fuss. But Crusher had broken the ice early on and I felt I had the courage to take certain liberties with my traditional pacifist stance. Phillip was yelling into his cell-phone to someone in Poland. I put my arm around him as Bono sang about his father's death.

"Look Phillip. You are going to have to be good and quiet down. You are getting a lot of people here very angry, and if you don't cool it, one of them is going to go get security, and they are going to come and take you out of this arena. Okay?"

He said it was okay, but before the song was ended, he was back on with Krakow, and I was on my way to find the security guards, which ended up being one guy with a walkie-talkie. My quest for Mr. Walkie-Talkie caused me to miss "Yahweh". Thanks. Although, I guess Phillip truly deserves the credit. I pointed him out to the 'security' guard - who said he dealt with these people all the time - and sat back down. Mr. Walkie-Talkie loomed in the background, watching for any behavior not kosher to a rock show. Meanwhile, I leaned into Phillip and explained, "You're gonna have to be good now. You're being monitored."
(I learned later that as soon as I had left to find Mr. Walkie-Talkie, Crusher had also issued an idle threat - "You're in trouble now. He's going to get security."

Needless to say, these warnings, (reinforced by mr. walkie-talkie), worked for a little while - (maybe a song and �) - as they should. Then, I guess, there was another more important call, and 'security' was pulled away. Bigger threats than our reckless little European. U2 launched into "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and Phillip exploded.
I mean, so did I. I have never had the privilege of hearing them perform this anthem live. I still haven't. I saw Bono and he looked pretty serious with his Coexist headband, challenging us to tolerance. But all I heard was Phillip, in my left ear, screaming "SUNDAY BLOODY SUNDAAAAAAAAYYYYYY! OOOOOOOOHHHH-TWOOOOOOO!"

Believe it or not, I made it through the intensity of "Bullet the Blue Sky" and "Miss Sarajevo" without incident - unless you count the hole I chewed through the inside of my mouth. Then, right before "Pride (In the Name of Love)", things got really quiet. Soft words were spoken. Challenges were made. And peace was observed. From the stage, emitting out to thousands of U2 fans, as Bono talked about the violation of human rights. Little did he know, it was going on right next to me. Phillip was on his phone again. One of the girls behind us - who he had tried to dance with earlier - got in on the action and tried to pull the cell out of his hand. Crusher said "If you don't get off your phone right now, I'm going to throw the fucking thing across the arena." And I asked if he would, "please show some respect." He didn't.

Crusher went for help. As a 'shot rang out in the Memphis sky', on the International Day of Peace, as Phillip babbled on, I lost it. If my friends could see me now.
I grabbed Phillip in mid-sentence and turned him towards me. All the eyes of section 204 were on us now, as I hollered over the sound of the band.
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHY DON'T YOU JUST SHUT UP?! YOU ARE RUINING THIS EXPERIENCE FOR EVERYONE! PLEASE! PLEASE! I'VE ASKED YOU NICELY! PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!"

"You don't understand." He spoke in broken English. "I save all year for this concert. I wait. This for you - week's pay."

You have no idea Phillip. No fucking idea.
He turned straight ahead and stuck out his lip like a scorned little boy. Only then did I recognize the familiar strains of the soundtrack that played over our little tirade. The Edge's trademark sounds of paradise - "Where the Streets Have No Name". I wish I could have gone right then and there. To make matters worse, Crusher was missing it all.

We were working on heaven when she finally arrived to end our hell. A bevy of buff bouncers in tow. One of the tough guys, crammed into a yellow t-shirt and sans walkie-talkie, tapped Phillip on the shoulder. "You - come with me!" How could he resist.

For the next 15 minutes, despite the nagging pain in my abdomen, there was peace on earth. With trepidation, I tried to enjoy Bono's impromptu, acapella, request version of "In A Little While", and the deeply meaningful finale of "One" - currently even more potent due to the poverty relief effort of the same name. Then it all came to a screeching halt.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAHHHHHH! U-TOOOOOOOO! U-TOOOOOO!"

What was this? I had mistakenly believed the madness was over. I had stupidly believed I would be able to relax and fully enjoy the remainder of the concert. There must be some mistake. How could security just let this guy go? This...Phillip? This fucking asshole?

He pointed at Crusher's leg, which was currently blocking his entrance into the row. She didn't even look up at him. Like a troll atop a bridge, she remained. Protecting us all. Section 204. Our little rock and roll sentinel. Of course, I was the one who ended up giving in. I was the one who broke. I employed Crusher to move her leg so Phillip could enter. What was I thinking? Did I really believe that things would be different? I mean, Crusher was ready to...well, crush the guy. Do some serious damage.

Meanwhile, back on stage, Bono and the Edge closed out their primary set with a touching acoustic rendition of "Ol' Man River", and exited to thunderous applause. I didn't clap during this time, but used the sacred moment for prayer. A prayer that God would close the mouth of the beast on my left. A prayer that God would stop any and all movement in the chair next to me. But, as most of you know, he moves in 'mysterious ways' and doesn't always answer prayers the way you want Him to.

U2's five song encore was amazing. But seeing how the entire concert - up to this point - was lost on me, it only made sense that the icing on the shitty cake be sour too. Phillip seemed to be the only person in section 204 that was enjoying himself. Imagine that. Some foreign antibody took me over. I grabbed him by his crackling shoulders and turned him once more, screaming "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP!", resisting the never present, yet oddly familiar, urge to drag him out of the arena by his ears. (For what purpose, I don't know. This was all so new to me.) My fists were clenched. My teeth were grinding. A fresh layer of sweat burst through my pores like a flash flood. I had to do something this time. I just had to.

I ran. So exasperated. So angry. Security was nowhere to be found this time. I yelled at a bartender to call a herd of those big men in tight t-shirts to section 204. "There's a commotion! Help!" I think I actually barked at her just so she'd realize the sense of urgency. Honestly, what could I say? "There's a boy being very boisterous next to me at the rock concert"? I almost felt a little foolish by this point. Who could possibly understand the threat of Phillip but the patrons of section 204? I didn't wait around to deal with the fallout or answer any of the bartender's questions. I was missing the encore.

I rejoined the concert and stood in the back to wait for security the third, and last, time. They never came. Crusher joined me in the wings and I tried to enjoy "With Or Without You" - one of my favorite songs of all time. I must say, it was difficult. Though he was out of my presence, I just couldn't get him out of my system. You know how you get when someone cuts you off on the highway? When 'road rage' takes over? Honking and hand gestures don't suffice. You feel a strong compulsion to get that person out of their car, just so you can explain to them why they were so wrong and you were so right. Just to be vindicated. Just to get that much needed sense of justice. Because when you just let people behave that way. When people just 'get away with it'. That poison just lies in your stomach and gestates, rendering you incapable of any peaceful and enjoyable experience. This is what Phillip had done to me and Crusher, and, though I didn't take a poll, I'm sure he had done the same to the occupants of section 204.

As they have done a lot this tour, U2 ended their second encore with "40", leaving the entire arena swaying to the prayerful mantra of 'how long...to sing this song?' I wish I could say I was able to indulge in this spiritual experience. However, huddled at the back, Crusher and I were subjected to spilt beer, clumsy, meat-headed drunks stepping on our toes, and selfish assholes that stopped in mid aisle, blocking site lines, to watch the remainder of the show, in the wings with their girlfriends. Granted, that is exactly what Crusher and I were doing, but these people hadn't been sitting next to Phillip like we had. Crusher yelled at one of the clumsy, meat-headed, feet-crushing drunks as he passed by us, but not our feet. "Hey! Tell your friend he's an asshole!" And that's pretty much how I summed up our evening.

I could have waited and confronted Phillip. Had a little heart to heart without the intrusion of U2 to distract us. But I figured I should just cut my losses. (Including the $220 in concert tickets.) I noticed the rash on my chest the next morning. Somehow, I figure Phillip has got to be at the bottom of that too. Somehow. Someway.
After all this, I was ready to do a PSA touting the evils of rock and roll shows, but last night, I saw the Arcade Fire at the Riviera. That's another blog.