Last night I went to Rock n Rio. A concert/fair/music explosion of sorts. I was looking forward to watching John Mayer and maybe checking out the Shakira concert as well. I had decided to go alone and just appreciate the music and the freedom to have some time to myself, with several thousand screaming people.
John Mayer was amazing. He can play a guitar, wow, like no one I’ve ever seen. Including at one point him laying the guitar flat on the ground and kneeling over it and then playing it without even holding the thing. It was ridiculous. When he sang “Why Georgia” I thought I was going to bust a vocal cord. It was so much fun and I had wheedled my way close enough to the stage that had I had a baseball John Mayer and I could have played catch. Which would have been fun.
After John Mayer finished (doesn’t he just seem like one of those people who you ought to say their first and last name, even when you’re talking to them) I made my way through the crowds to the rollercoaster that had been set up. I was so psyched because even though this had nothing on the Vortex or the Great American Scream Machine it was still a rollercoaster and it had the added bonus of cars that spun around in circles as you went up and down the tracks. Oh, yeah, and the cars were mice, one of whom was smoking a cigarette. Ok, so a little strange, but they were from Spain, so… whatever ;) Since I was on my own I ended up in a car with the two ladies in front of me, one of whom was probably about 13 and I am convinced had never ridden a rollercoaster before and the other, her cousin/sister/I don’t know who was decidedly cute and about my age. The car had some buttons on it that would add special effects and I asked the girls if they wanted to press the button and the younger girl said, in a no-time-for-a-breath-but-I’m-still-talking-somehow stream of consciousness in no uncertain terms, that she absolutely positively didn’t want anyone thinking of pressing the button. So I did… no not really, that would have been mean. And then the ride started and the girl started screaming and her friend and I started laughing and the ride started spinning and then a cat ate our car and there was a constant flow of what sounded like appeals to a higher power from the girl and more laughter from us and then the ride was over. As I asked the girl if she was ok as she shakily got off the ride she said that she was, in-between her continuing flow of unbelieving statements about how that was craziness to get on something like that. I thanked the ladies, waved and walked off to go hear Shakira. Which is when the craziness began…
I am leaning against a building. A man stumbles, steps on me while spilling beer on me. Words are spoken. Then the crowd begins to perk up. Heads turn. Bodies scramble away. A woman is knocked into and collapses at my feet. Suddenly where there was once a crowd, people are now shoving each other to get away. I see a man with no shirt on come out of nowhere and a vicious head-rocking right cross is thrown. There is blood. And screaming. More fighters show up. We are standing toe to toe. I don’t know what to do but Shakira has long since been forgotten. Angry women are trying to hold the men back. Beer is thrown on the shirtless man. And then I am surrounded by security. The man who threw the punch and the man who spilled beer on me have disappeared. The security talks so fast, asking what happened, I don’t understand and shrink back into the wall that I was leaning against before all this happened and try to disappear as well.
And then I left. Because security didn’t care about me, they were trying to figure out what happened with all the people who were fighting around me. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and after listening to some more of the concert, which was surprisingly good, Shakira puts on a good show, I decided it was time to get home. I walked away with slightly sticky feet from having a drop or two of beer spilled on them, a smile because I’d very much enjoyed my time, aside from watching a fight break out around me between some very intoxicated men, and a story, which is always a good thing.
2 comments:
Goodness gracious!
Did he punch YOU? That was what it sounded like, and I was like, "NO WAY did someone punch JUSTIN!" But then again, I got punched in Lisbon, too, so I guess anything can happen.
Sheesh. You have the craziest experiences.
No, I wasn't punched, evidently I didn't clear that up enough in the final paragraph. oops.
Your confidence in someone not wanting to punch me is heartening and the next time someone thinks about it I'll let them know that they ought not to be considering such unfathamable circumstances as my friend Jess says such things just don't happen.
P.s. my word verification is unleg, as in although Arthur may unleg the black night it is after all mearly a flesh wound and the fight will undoubtably continue.
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