T.M.I.

The other night I met a guy named Jason. We spent about 2 hours together and I was able to extract a lot of information from him. For example, he works at TVA. In management he said, but I have my doubts. He has four kids: two boys, two girls. His girls’ names are Tori and Ni-vay-yuh (not sure how it’s actually spelled, but that’s how you pronounce it). They are six and two respectively. He loves being a father. Greatest thing in the world, he says. He’s actually a single father. His wife died two years ago. He didn’t go into how she passed away which leads me to believe it was likely not true. More likely it was a way to get some sympathy and maybe some company for later in the evening. He thinks the USA is the greatest country in the world. He has some unambiguous feelings about the leadership in the city of Knoxville. He likes to follow every sentence up with, “Know wut I mean?”, just to drive his point home. He’s a real charmer, this Jason.

I met ol’ Jason at a John Mellencamp concert. Now that you know that, please ask yourself why I know so much about his life. I was there to listen to music. Not make a new friend. I was there to spend time with the friend who invited me. Not to engage in anything more than the occasional “excuse me” if we were to accidentally bump into each other while dancing to Crumblin’ Down. I was there to maybe exchange pleasantries with the people around me. Not to have to be accosted by a 300 pound redneck whose ample body exuded the stench of years’ worth of chain smoking. Every time he opened his mouth, I inched closer to a lung cancer diagnosis.

Not only did he continue to talk about his personal life in a room that was, at it’s quietest, 150 decibels, but he would also occasionally give me his profound take on Mr. Mellencamp’s singing abilities after all these years. No fewer than seven times did he turn to me and tell me that for a guy in his 50’s (he’s not, by the way – he’s 60) he still “had it”. “I hope I’m still about to do that when I’m his age”, he would say. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of his current stature, he couldn’t even do it at 28, which he also shared with me at some point during the show. “That’s cool”, he kept saying at various times for God knows what reason. He’d literally just turn to me at various times and offer the obligatory, “That’s cool”. Only it was really more of a “coo-wuhl”, coming from him. Enchanting.

When we had our little conversation about his age, he of course had to ask me mine. I told him I was older than he was. That didn’t satisfy him. He guessed 26. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I do know that 28 is GREATER THAN 26.

Me: “No, older than 26.”

Ol’ Jason: “No way”. (He is actually charming the pants on me at this point.)

Me: “A lot older, actually.”

Ol’ Jason: “34?”

Me: I’m tired of this game. “38.”

Ol’ Jason: (nodding with seriousness and sincerity like he really wants me to feel what he’s saying) “Man, you look awwwwesome.”

Me: A half-hearted appreciative smile, and then a quick turn to my friend to end this conversation.

I am so seldom flirted with that I feel like I probably would have trouble recognizing it if and when it were to happen. But, this was not flirtation. It was something more pathetic. I don’t know if he was hoping to get into the pants of an equally desperate lady or just what. What would he have done if I had really been into him? No, I just happened to be the unfortunate soul whose ticket placed her next to him for the duration of the show. I resented that he was encroaching on my time to enjoy the show and the friend I was there with. But I knew. I knew as soon as I saw him bounding down the aisle that he was headed straight to me. It happens every time I go to a concert or sporting event. Without fail, the loser sits next to, in front of, or behind me.

Of course, public events and venues like that are really just loser conventions anyway, aren’t they? So, it stands to reason that losers would be all around me. It’s just amazing to me that these people don’t understand common etiquette in these situations. Haven’t they ever been seated next to someone who drove them crazy? Don’t they know how it feels? Why do they inflict this on the rest of us?

Every time Mike and I go to a concert, about 20 minutes into it we find ourselves asking why we chose to do it in the first place. We once saw Lyle Lovett at the Alabama Theatre in Birmingham. A nice venue. A good, low-key act. What could possibly go wrong? Well, for starters, the couple in the seats in front of us were making out (complete with tongues and smacking) for most of the show. Really? Lyle Lovett inspires this? Every time they would get going, Mike and I would look at each other in utter bewilderment as to why it was happening. We heard the people behind us laugh a few times so we assumed they were in agreement with us that this was unreasonable behavior. It was only later we realized that they were making out, too. Who finds this to be acceptable public behavior? And why at a Lyle Lovett concert?! I thought his fans were older and lame like Mike and I are. Nope. They are, apparently, horny rednecks.

So, back to ol’ Jason. My friend, Wendy, feeling sorry for my situation, kept trying in vain to peel me away from his boorish conversation. She’d lean over to me when his body language would indicate that he was about to approach me with another one of his profound musings, and begin to talk to me about nothing in particular so he’d take that social clue to mean that I was unavailable for conversation. But ol’ Jason is persistent. He doesn’t let something like that derail his attempts at a budding friendship. He would simply and politely wait for me to finish talking/nodding/laughing with Wendy to dazzle me with more of his reflections on fatherhood.

After the show, Wendy told me what a nice person I was to continue to talk with him. You can actually see from this post that I am, in fact, not a nice person at all. I was nice to him and I did participate in conversations with him. What if he was telling the truth about his wife? Then maybe he was just a lonely guy who needed some companionship. I couldn’t be rude to him. But he was rude to me. I paid money (really I didn’t – the ticket was a gift) to see that show and be entertained by John Mellencamp. I was there for that reason and that reason only. Ol’ Jason prevented me from getting the full enjoyment out of the show. It’s people like ol’ Jason who will keep me at home the next time an act I’m interested in comes to town. It’s just not worth it to have to suffer through the shenanigans of obnoxious fat guys and maker-outers.

Know wut I mean?