Elevator Practice

For some odd reason, while in an elevator, I never seem to be able to remember which button to push to hold the doors open. This leads to some awkwardness after making eye contact with strangers, as they rush to get onboard, only to have the doors quickly shut in front of them as I accidentally and repeatedly push for the doors to close. I halfway expect some pumped-up, steroid-injecting, angry man to run down the stairs and confront me after I successfully arrive at my destination and attempt to exit. Which leads me to last weekend.

RB & I stayed in a condo in Panama City Beach, where we were fortunate to get free* concert tickets for Miranda Lambert (Friday) and Jason Aldean (Saturday). Admittedly, I'm not much of a  country music fan, but it seems rather elitist to write off an entire genre.

*Free is a relative term, since the resort charged an additional $160 for a damage waiver, reservation, registration and cleaning fees.

As holders of preferred general admission tickets, we were directed to the section closest to the stage, which would have been amazing if I'd known one song. I thought I did, but it turns out Carrie Underwood digs her keys into his pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive. Miranda should probably add it to her repertoire. Just sayin'.

We were enjoying the show, packed tight, when the angry man from my imaginary elevator scenario started pushing his way near the stage. He was saying, "Don't look at me.  Don't look at me." A gaping hole in the crowd opened up, as Steroid man ripped off his shirt, and attempted to fight the guilty man who apparently was brave enough to look at him. He was standing directly in front of me, with his beefy, overthick neck in view. I, of course, felt an overwhelming urge to thump him in the neck, but came to my senses when I remembered how painful broken noses can be.