So a week ago, I had the fortune and misfortune of going to the Passion Pit concert at Freeborn Hall. You’re probably wondering how it’s possible for something to be fortunate and unfortunate at the same time. To sum it up: The music was great, but I got stuck in front of the biggest asshole in all of UC Davis.
Since I don’t know the idiot’s name, I will refer to him by his stupid sweater. He wore a multi-colored cardigan sweater that looked oddly similar to the cardigan I was wearing (which I got from the women’s section of GAP). Thus, I’ll call him Cardigan Man – or Dickface.
Like everyone else in Freeborn, I was packed in like a sardine. Unlike everyone else in Freeborn, I was not wearing a headband, plaid shirt or drunk. Anyway, the packed-in-like-sardines thing is probably the most important item to note here. I say this because this is how I came to be stuck in front of Cardigan Man.
Basically, my friend Erica and I were forward thinkers. We decided to get to the concert early to find a nice spot to stand and enjoy the show. Unless you’re a dumbass (like Cardigan Man, who showed up late), you probably know that when there’s not assigned seating, it’s best to get there early.
Everything was going aight until the break between the first and second opening band. It was during this time I began to feel the weight of a human body on my back. Like literally his entire weight. Someone was purposefully trying to knock me on my face so they could stand where I was. This someone was Cardigan Man e.g. Dickface.
I turned my head just enough to see that Cardigan Man, an awkward Ichabod Crane resembling dude, was standing back-to-back with me trying to force me to move. Erica got pissed. She told him to get the hell off me and try going somewhere else.
Apparently, that was an unreasonable request. Dickface started going off to his friends about how when Passion Pit came on all of his friends should collectively push us “bitches” over and rush the stage. I guess Dickface thought we were at an Underoath concert or something.
I wasn’t too concerned because his entourage appeared to be a group of high school-aged looking girls and one guy. The one guy, however, looked like one of those monsters from Space Jam in that he was gigantic and looked stupid. He was too busy feeling up his girlfriend and seriously seemed incapable of following verbal instructions anyway. So once again, I wasn’t too concerned.
For about 15 minutes, Cardigan Man continued to verbally berate Erica and me. My favorite quote had to be when he told his friends we looked like sluts. I was pretty impressed that he could gauge our promiscuity based on what the back of our bodies looked like – especially when we were wearing sweaters, t-shirts and jeans.
We didn’t want to feed into his obnoxiousness, but we felt like we were going to explode. So we resorted to angrily texting anyone we could. I guess one of Cardigan Man’s lemmings read Erica’s text to her boyfriend that read, “I want to knife everyone around me but Amanda.” Dickface was of course informed, and then he started talking about how someone should knife us.
Basically, the story ended with Cardigan Man pushing his back into me again at which point I took out my car key and shoved it into his spine. The next band came on, and Erica and I wiggled away from the douche bag and enjoyed the show.
Now let’s fast forward to Picnic Day. All in all, it was an epic day. The most outrageous thing I saw was two drunk girls passed out on the lawn in front of the Graduate School of Management. Not too unusual for Picnic Day, right? Well, one of the girl’s boobs had completely fallen out of her shirt.
I felt awful for her. Guys were gawking. Her shirt was neon yellow, which only helped highlight the fact her breast was hanging out. I felt obligated to do something. Luckily, there was a paper bag near me. I picked it up and dropped it on her chest from like three feet in the air. Yes, Neon Shirt girl. It was I that brown-bagged your boob. I hope that’s somewhat comforting?
Anyway, on the long trek home from Picnic Day, my boyfriend and I were walking passed SAE. I heard some girl say, “Whatever. Fuck you. Just go away.”
I turned around and saw who else but Cardigan Man comforting some chick who, like me, probably wanted to punch him in his stupid face. My Picnic Day was made. I hope she broke up with you, asshole.
AMANDA HARDWICK is already over the word count. Just freaking e-mail her at firstname.lastname@example.org if you want.