The life of a short gal: attending a concert.
I am short.
I mean, not dangerously short. I don’t run a risk of poking my eye out on a door handle or anything like that. But short nevertheless. As in, if I’m not wearing heels, I can stand straight up from my seat on an airplane and not hit my head on the console above me.
Those of you who know what I’m referring to will agree: that’s short.
I’ve no particular issue with my height. At times I wish my legs were longer, because skirts look ghastly on me, but that’s about it. I don’t actually wish to be taller, except on those rare occasions when Rand puts the cereal on the top shelf, and I can’t find my stepping stool.
Oh, and during concerts. Because concerts, when you’re 5’2″? Those suck beyond belief. Here, in brief, is what it’s like:
Arrive at venue. Suddenly become aware that nearly all of your friends are absurdly tall. Seemingly at the same moment, they notice your height for the first time. They stare at you blankly, with an expression that reads, “How did I never notice before that she’s a pygmy?”
After a few seconds, you friend will utter the phrase that you’ve heard time and again – the one that is always on your mind: “Are you going to be able to see?”
You shrug, and say your are going to be fine, because that seems easier than screaming, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK?” and insisting they carry you on their shoulders.
Folks begin filter in. Claustrophobia ensues, as you become intimately acquainted with the middle of people’s backs.
Every concert I've been to, EVER.
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Suddenly, there is clapping and thunderous applause. This is the only thing to alert you to the fact that the musician has come on stage, because visual cues are unavailable to you.
Apparently something is happening. Music is being played by someone, somewhere. Wait, what’s this?
You can see something.
YES. SORT OF. YOU CAN SORT OF SEE SOMETHING.
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Wait, who is that? Is that a bassist? God damn it.
You crane your neck in a vain attempt to see something else, and end up bumping into the woman next to you. She is roughly 2 inches taller than you, and in the concert hierarchy, this makes her your superior. The look she gives you confirms this fact.
Your calves begin to ache. Looking down, you notice you’ve been standing on your tippy toes without realizing it. You stop, because it makes no difference.
Oh, Christ. Alright, who farted? They realize that’s like, SIX INCHES FROM YOUR FACE, RIGHT?
Fart in retaliation, despite the fact that you will endure the brunt of it.
Decide to use your camera in order to catch a glimpse of what’s going on. Holding in high above your head, you take a picture.
God damn it.
–
You try again.
Well, shit.
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Apparently all the other short people had the same idea, too. Contemplate asking your petite brethren to join you in some sort of human pyramid. Insist that everyone will have a chance at the top, and that you should have it first, since it was your idea. Once you reach the top, you will refuse to give up your temporary stature as an altitudinal queen. Those at the bottom of the pyramid, angry that you renegged on your promise, will shift enough to send you toppling to the ground, a dangerous 5’6″ away.
Decide against the pyramid idea.
Attempt to take another photo. This time, you actually got something!
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Zoom in.
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Zoom in a little further.
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Wait, is that Stevie effing WONDER? You’ve been at a STEVIE EFFING WONDER CONCERT AND YOU’VE ONLY JUST SEEN HIM NOW?
Well, in all fairness, it’s not like he can see you, either.
Oh, honey, no. You did not just make that joke. I let the early one about pygmys slide, but seriously? First short jokes, now blind jokes? That is NOT okay.
Wait … are you fighting with yourself in the middle of a blog post?
No.
Yes.
I’m confused. Back to the concert.
Contemplate weaving through the crowd to get to the front, but realize that while your petite stature would make it easy to do that, you aren’t entirely sure you could see anything once you got there.
Plus, that’s like, 100 feet away. Which is a long distance for someone with short legs.
Besides, if that one person just moved. You’d be able to see everything. But they won’t. They’re just standing there on their incredibly long legs and you can’t see anything except –
Oh. My. God.
They moved.
THEY MOVED.
You have a clear view. You can actually see the stage. It’s amazing. It’s beautiful. It’s like Moses parting the Red Sea. YOU CAN SEE AND OH GOD IT’S SO BEAUT-
Nevermind. They moved back.
Sigh.
What’s this? One of your friends has offered to pick you up? Awww, that’s sweet. You laugh, because despite being 6’2″, they weigh roughly what you do. You pat them on the arm and thank them for what is an adorable but impossible-by-the-limitations-of-physics offer.
Decide that seeing a concert isn’t that imperative, anyway. Start to dance. Inadvertently hit the tall people around you in the groin and lower back, because all your moves are borrowed from Elaine Benes. The Amazonians who you’ve accidentally whacked give you dirty looks. You are able to avoid them easily, because making eye contact with the league of giants around you would involve some serious neck craning.
And you? You are not here to crane your neck. You are here to boogie.
What? The concert’s over? Already? Sigh. Time to head home. You pile into a cab with your never-realized-they-were-so-tall friends. You offer to sit bitch, because it’s not that big a deal for you. Nevertheless, this makes you a saint in the eyes of all your friends, who have yet to realize that even in the middle seat, you have more leg room than they do.
Smile brightly, because really, being short? It’s not that bad.
It's cute how he bends down to talk to us.
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