Okay, maybe it's not exactly the kind of bar fight you're thinking of. But still, when you look at your list of bar fights compared to mine, I'd have to say that yours is kind of lacking.
I was going to post this on Saturday night, right after the event happened, but I was too exhausted, and yesterday I didn't have much time because I was traveling and all, so I'm finally getting around to it. So you're welcome. Anyway, here's what happened on Saturday night...
I was supposed to see Colbie Caillat in concert twice this summer, but both of those tour dates got canceled (as is my luck with almost every concert I attend). So when I found out that she was going to be promoting her new CD in Nashville at the Tin Roof, I was obviously excited and quickly bought a ticket. I had to drive all they way down from Chattanooga for the concert, but I thought it would be very much worth it because (1) I got to leave Chattanooga for a weekend, and (2) I got to see Colbie Caillat live. It never crossed my mind that it would be one of my worst concert experiences ever (Although I'm not sure any concert will ever be as bad as the time when I was supposed to see Kelly Clarkson, but she got replaced by the Dixie Chicks at the last minute. Trade off? I think not!).
Anyway, back to the real story.
The Tin Roof in Nashville is not my ideal venue for a concert. I guess they normally have smaller indoor concerts, because the inside of the bar was pretty tiny, but as part of some summer concert series they had a stage set up in a sketchy alley/parking lot/junk yard out to the side of it. I didn't even know it was going to be an outdoor concert until a few house before I got there, and I was less that thrilled. But whatever, I was there to see Colbie Caillat perform, and I wasn't going to let a little bit of heat stroke get in the way. There were no seats at this venue, except for the rude people who brought lawn chairs and took up enough space for five people to stand, and every standing spot was general admission. I got there just late enough to not be in the front row. Still, I was here to enjoy myself, so I just let it slide.
So I had to stand in that spot for a good hour and a half before the first opening act went on, and by the time it began my back was already in some serious pain. Remember how I have scoliosis? Like for real? And how I was in physical therapy all of last semester for it? Yeah, keep that in mind.
So the first opener went on, and by this point there were three thousand people in the audience (Seriously! Three thousand! I was expecting maybe five hundred!). So it's not like it was possible for me to leave my spot. If I did, there was no chance I would get it back. But my back was killing me, as per usual when I am in these settings, and I was already doing that thing where I bend over and sort of roll around on my hips to make the pain go away. Nothing was going to get in the way of my good time! That is, except for the three Real Housewives of Nashville, who were standing right in front of me. Yeah, the story's about to get really good.
I'll start by saying that these three women, who were in their late forties, were drunk out of their minds. Seriously, by the end of the evening I genuinely believe that one of them had about fifteen drinks. Let me begin by describing the three of them to you, and then I'll get onto the good stuff. I could tell that they were all wealthy. They married rich, and were stuck in unhappy marriages that they were only in for the money. They dressed like they were going out to some fancy social event, wearing their pearls and high heels. That's not to say that they looked nice, though, because they didn't. They looked like two dollars an hour prostitutes, twenty years south of their prime. One of them was really country and really blond, and obviously used a full can of hairspray. She liked to sing along really, really loudly, and if I'm being completely honest, she wasn't half bad... for a mediocre opera singer. So that was fun. The second woman really just looked like she had just been dragged along to the concert by her two drunk friends, and looked like she would have preferred to be anywhere but here. The last woman was the worst. Really, the only word I can use to describe her is "whore." Something happened early on in the opening act that gave me this impression of her, but I'm going to wait until the end of the story to tell you that part.
Sometime during the first act, the first woman, the blond one who sang, stepped on my foot. And she was wearing heels. And the heels were made out of knives. Well, no, not really, but they might as well have been. The woman turned to me and said with a drunken smile "Oh honey! You better watch where you're going!" Um, excuse me? So I said back, "Um, I think you best be watching where you're going," except I didn't actually say that at all. I just let it go. No use dealing with a crazy drunk.
Anyway, this is when the story gets good.
As I said before, my back was really hurting me. And since I was in the second row, I didn't have the rail to hold on to for support. Then out of nowhere, a gift from the heavens, the miserable friend went to go make her life a little better by getting a round of drinks. The most horrible of the three then scooted over into her spot along the rail, making an empty space right in front of me. So I grabbed on to the bar for support. Note: I did not take a step foreword. I was standing in the same spot I had been in for the past two hours, only my arm was stretched about a foot in front of me. No big deal, right? Ha!
Diagonal to me, to the right of my arm, was the third drunk. About thirty seconds after I held onto the rail, she looked down at my hand and smiled. Then she put her hand on top of mine, grabbed my middle finger, and bent it back all the way. I'm not joking. My hand immediately released from the pole in pain, and then the woman grabbed into it and squeezed it hard enough to hear a popping noise. She looked me square in the eyes and said, "Oh, Nuh-uh. I know you might think you're all privileged and all that, but let me tell you something. You're not. You can try all you want to move up to the front, but it's no use. This is my spot. So... Back. Off."
I was at a loss for words. She smiled and the turned beck toward the stage. I was silent for a good ten seconds, but then said, "Uh, are you serious?"
She turned back around and laughed. She looked at me maliciously and said "As a heart attack."
I was still shocked that she said anything in the first place, and I didn't really want to start a major argument (and I couldn't think of a good comeback), so I just said, "You could have asked me to move. And I wasn't even trying to take your spot. My back was hurting, so I just held onto the bar for support."
"You don't have back problems!" She yelled at me. "You're still a little kid. I am a middle aged woman. I have back problems."
I stared at her is disbelief. I should have just not said anything else, but whatever. All I said next was this. "Actually, I have scoliosis."
"You don't have scoliosis! I have scoliosis!" Let's face it. She was crazy. I should have said back to her something about how if she really did have it she wouldn't be at a standing room only concert in six inch heels for five hours, but I didn't. Instead, I said. "Actually, I was in physical therapy for five months for it, so yeah, I do have back problems."
She scoffed and yelled, "How old are you?!" I should have said, why does that matter? But instead I told her I was eighteen. So, using her great reasoning skills, she said all smugly to me, "Well, my son is 19, so maybe I'll start taking you seriously when you're his age." Am I the only one who noticed that this is like, a three month age difference?
She was being ridiculous, so I said to her, "You are being ridiculous." She was actually shocked that I would say that to her. Meanwhile, her friend, the opera singer, was busily trying to get the to turn around or apologize to me or something, but the evil one just gave her glares and said, "Don't tell me what to do."
She was glaring at me. "Are you really going to continue to talk to me that way? I am a lady!"
"Actually, you're a hag," I said, only not really. What I did say was this: "I am more mature than you could ever hope to be." And it felt good.
Her eyes were now possessed by some demon. Looking right at me, she said, "Kiss. My. A**."
I laughed right at her and said, "What?"
And she said again, though this time a bit more crudely, "Kiss. My. F**king. A**." (Excuse the language. I'm quoting, so it doesn't count.)
I just stared at her and said, "...no."
And then she actually screamed! And she yelled, "Keep on talking to me that way! I dare you! Do you want rolls on your eyes?!" She drew a circle around her wrinkly, botoxed face with her finger. "Do you even know what rolls are?!"
And she exploded. "fjdklfjdklhcjdkls! Well how about I go get that big black man over there and ask him to teach you what rolls on your eyes are!!"
I said, "No, that's okay," and at this point the tag along friend came back with three drinks. She looked at the hag and asked what was wrong with her. And then the evil one just look right at me and said, "I can't even deal with it right now." Then the friend was like, "Well what did he do?" And my sworn enemy yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, "He pushed me! He wanted my spot and grabbed my shoulder and shoved me to the ground!" And the friend gasped.
Then a couple, who were next to me and behind the three witches said, "That's not what happened..." And the crazy women yelled, "Don't get involved!"
But the couple offered to trade spots with me and I gladly accepted the offer. I got a better view anyway.
Nothing else happened for about thirty minutes, but then crazy lady just became pathetic. The second act was now playing, and they were doing a cover of the One Republic song "Apologize." It got to the chorus of the song, and then when the moment was just right, the woman turned to me, now about five feet away, and said in all seriousness, "It's too late to apologize." I just rolled my eyes.
The fight was basically over, but she did say one more thing to me once Colbie was done. The concert ended, and she immediately turned to me and said. "I am not a bad person." And I said, "Okay." And then I left.
So that's basically the end of the story. I just have one more thing to say. Remember how I said I saw her do something before the concert even started? Well, this is what it was: I saw her send a text to someone that said "I'll be a MILF for you." And then when the concert was over she called her husband to come pick her up. So I'm sure that's a really happy relationship going on there.
Anyway, that's it. Sorry this post was so long, but I had a lot to say! Hopefully you thought it was funny. And it's ALL true. I hope she got alcohol poisoning that night.