Little Queens

Boorish people, it seems, are everywhere. They are neighbours who feel everyone within a 2-block radius should hear their vast dubstep music collection. They are in line at the supermarket, thieving every last inch of personal space that we've been granted by some obscure international accord that few people are aware of (save for myself as I like to read up on these things). They are pretty much everyone who drives a Dodge Ram. Last night, they were the people sitting in front of me at the Heart concert. 

I've been to many a show where an inebriated individual tries to snatch the wig of the artist at hand and draw all eyes to their profound stupidity. There was the middle-aged man who tried to start a brawl with a group of teenagers at the end of a White Stripes show. There were the, uhm, "makeup obsessed" chicks who kept going to the bathroom to "powder their nose" at a Mariah Carey gig. There was Liam Gallagher. All of these previous cases had occured in my hometown of Winnipeg, a working class city in which people have perfected the art of the side-eye. I just assumed that people one province over in Saskatchewan were also reserved and kept to themselves, secretly wishing the bores away, not wanting to add to the spectacle. Boy was I wrong!

As the audience at TCU Place enjoyed the Wilson sisters' opening songs, two women sauntered over to their seats, drinks in hand. Late and disgruntled that the seats they purchased were in the second row and not the first, they proceeded to let everyone know about it. They complained to the usher. They hollered at security. They even started poking the people in front of them, their giggles belying the fact that they were AT LEAST thirty years outside of junior high. The scene lasted for a few minutes until their drinks ran out, at which point everyone was happy to see them leave. 

Returning with even more drinks in hand, the lovely ladies did the unforgivable. They started yapping during what would have been the highlight of any Heart concert, the moment Ann Wilson belts out "Alone". Swiftly, forcefully with rage in their eyes and thankfully no pitchforks in hand, four people simultaneously turned to them and told them explicitly to be quiet. As Ann sang on, the women became defiant until the melée escalated. For a moment, I thought the concert would turn into an Ultimate Fighting match...and then security came over. Words were spoken in a tone undisruptive to the setlist, icy glares exchanged. Then all was resolved. The band played on. And they were awesome. 

With exception of the drunk chicks, so was the audience.