The life of a short stack: attending a concert
I am short. I mean, not dangerously short. I don’t run a risk of poking my eye out on a door handle or anything like that. But short nevertheless. As in, if I’m wearing heels, I am still an armrest. Those of you who know what I’m referring to will agree: that’s short.
I have no particular issue with my height. At times I wish my legs were longer, because skirts look ghastly on me, but that’s about it. I don’t actually wish to be taller, well, except on those rare occasions when the cereal on the top shelf, and I can’t reach it. Oh, and during concerts. Because concerts, when you’re 5’3″? Those suck beyond belief. Here, in brief, is what it’s like:
Besides, if that one person just moved. You’d be able to see everything. But they won’t. They’re just standing there on their incredibly long legs and you can’t see anything except –
I have no particular issue with my height. At times I wish my legs were longer, because skirts look ghastly on me, but that’s about it. I don’t actually wish to be taller, well, except on those rare occasions when the cereal on the top shelf, and I can’t reach it. Oh, and during concerts. Because concerts, when you’re 5’3″? Those suck beyond belief. Here, in brief, is what it’s like:
Arrive at venue.
Suddenly become aware that nearly all of your friends are absurdly tall. Seemingly at the same moment, they notice your height for the first time. They stare at you blankly, with an expression that reads, “How did I never notice before that she’s a pygmy?” After a few seconds, your friend will utter the phrase that you’ve heard time and again – the one that is always on your mind: “Are you going to be able to see?” You shrug, and say you are going to be fine, because that seems easier than screaming, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK?”
Folks begin to filter in.
Claustrophobia ensues, as you know you will become intimately acquainted with the middle of people’s backs if this place is packed.
Suddenly, there is clapping and thunderous applause.
This is the only thing to alert you to the fact that the musician has come on stage, because visual cues are unavailable to you.
Apparently something is happening. Music is being played by someone, somewhere. Wait, what’s this? You can see something. YES. SORT OF. YOU CAN SORT OF SEE SOMETHING.
Apparently something is happening. Music is being played by someone, somewhere. Wait, what’s this? You can see something. YES. SORT OF. YOU CAN SORT OF SEE SOMETHING.
You crane your neck in a vain attempt to see something else. Your calves begin to ache. Looking down, you notice you’ve been standing on your tippy toes without realizing it. You stop, because it makes no difference.
Decide to use your camera in order to catch a glimpse of what’s going on. Holding in high above your head, you take a picture.
You always contemplate weaving through the crowd to get to the front, but realize that while your petite stature would make it easy to do that, you aren’t entirely sure you could see anything once you got there. Plus, that’s like, 100 feet away. Which is a long distance for someone with short legs.
Oh. My. God.
PEOPLE moved. SOMEONE MOVED.
You have a clear view. You can actually see the stage.
It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. It’s like Moses parting the Red Sea. YOU CAN SEE AND OH GOD IT’S SO BEAUT- Nevermind. They moved back.
Decide that seeing a concert isn’t that imperative, anyway.
Start to dance. Inadvertently hit the tall people around you in the groin and lower back, because all your moves are borrowed from Phoebe Buffay. The drunk warriors who you’ve accidentally whacked give you dirty looks. You are able to avoid them easily, because making eye contact with the league of giants around you would involve some serious neck craning. And you? You are not here to crane your neck. You are here to boogie.
What? The concert’s over? Already? Sigh. Time to head home.
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