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The Story of the Guy I Nearly Stomped

November 29, 2007

So, I went searching for some mosh pit rules online, just because I was curious if I was the only one who felt this way.  Most of the stuff I found assumed that you were already in a pit in progress, and that the crowd was amiable.  So here it is, stated for the whole of my readership.  THOU SHALT NOT FORCE THY MOSH ON OTHERS.  Seriously?  I get wanting to start a mosh.  And in a big venue, I know a mosh is going to happen.  But this guy just didn’t seem to get that the crowd wasn’t interested.  The crowd was kinda small, and made up of mostly college kids whose closest experience with a mosh pit was watching Jack Black do a stage dive in “School of Rock.”  After the first couple of test slams, he really should have backed the hell off.  ESPECIALLY when one of his test attempts involved a line of sorority chicks just looking to get their dance on.

Anyways.

The guy’s first attempt involved him slamming the Buttoned Up Boy-o who was standing next to me.  He was trying to push past, to get closer to the front, and since this dude was taller than most of the people in the area (including Boy-o), I didn’t figure on letting him get by, especially given that he was obviously looking for some slamming.  He didn’t even try to pull the “Oh, that’s my friend up there” excuse.  He tries to give the Buttoned Up Boy-o the “thumbs up” gesture to indicate that he wanted to crowd surf, but this does not go well.  Buttoned Up Boy-o wasn’t experienced enough to get that this was a request to assist in a body surf, and eventually ignores him.

After a couple of songs, these four little chickies show up.  And when I say “little” I mean about my size or a little smaller.  They weave their way through the crowd and line up right in front of me.  Okay, whatever.  This was after the lead singer had danced his way through the crowd, so I was willing to let them get their thrill of being close to the stage.  After a bit, I see see the guy slam a couple of other people, as he worked his way forward from my left.  Next thing I know, he’s standing right smack in front of me, with the chickies between me and him.  The Buttoned Up Boy-o leans forward and says to one of the girls “Watch out for him, he’s kinda weird.”

There’s a bit of dancing, and then the guy starts slamming backwards, right into the girl in front of me.  Which of course, slams her right into me.  Oh HELL no.  I reach between the two girls in front of me, and when he slams back again, I push back.  He does this a couple of times, and I finally reach out and hold him away from the girls.  Which meant I was basically dancing right up on the girl in front of me, but given her options, she didn’t seem to mind.  After a couple more attempts, he apparently realizes that I’m not going to let him keep slamming these girls, so he moves off to our left.  Where he starts trying to hip check the girl on the end of the line.

At this point, I’m annoyed.  It was an awesome experience being in that crowd of people, and I’d doubled checked myself a couple of times to be sure I wasn’t going to freak out.  This guy was like a fly buzzing around on a beautiful day.  I wanted to swat him so I could go back to enjoying myself.  I made my way around to put my body between this guy and the girl on the end, since she obviously had no clue how to handle him.  He slammed me a couple of times, and I stood my ground, hip checking him to let him know he needed to back off.  When he didn’t get the clue, I turned, faced him directly, and yelled “No one else wants to mosh.  You need to stop or get off the floor.”

The look on his face was utterly priceless.  I was sweaty, my hair was all mussed up from head banging, and I was in full-on protection mode.  I imagine the skin tight white shirt, jeans, and combat boots were just icing on the cake.  He stared at me for a few seconds, and figuring he didn’t have any clue how to respond to me, I added “Leave now.”

And off he wandered.

After a bit, he swings back around again.  He tries again to communicate his desire to body surf to the Buttoned Up Boy-o, who finally gets it, and helps lift the guy up into the crowd.  This has predictable results, given the size of the venue and the guy.  He went up, was passed about 6 feet over to the right, and came crashing down.  In a bit, he comes back, and I sense trouble brewing.  His attempt to body surf has failed, and he’s just the type of guy to pull some bullshit move to distract everyone from the fact that he fell on his ass.  He convinces the other guy who helped him up to give it a try.  Since he’s smaller, I figure he’ll probably go up easier, but I doubt it’s going to end well for the other guy.  Up he goes, and sure enough, the asshole pushes forward and gives the guy a shove, throwing him up onto the stage.  Security rushes over, pitches the other guy off, and that’s the end of that.  Except the asshole is still standing there, and he’s still in the mood to mosh.

Now, the four chickies have been hopping around, doing their damnedest to figure out what the hand gesture the singer keeps throwing is, and generally having a good time.  The crowd around them has been mostly polite and trying not to trod on them or throw an elbow into their faces.  This guy, however, did not read up on his crowd etiquette.  He proceeds to attempt to get a mosh going once more, but this time, he picks the wrong end of the line of chickies to slam into.  The girl on the right hand end of the line is apparently as sick as I am of this guy, and she’s willing to let him know.  With her fingernails.

After the first slam, she turns and starts yelling at the guy.  He starts doing what Jed so aptly described later as “the chicken dance.”  Ya’ll know the one.  The “I’m gonna stick my chest out and make like a big man, what you gonna do about it?”  I press forward and get my arm between the two of them, thinking I’ll put myself between them again.  The Buttoned Up Boy-o gets the clue and does the same.  Just seconds after I get my arm between them, she surges forward like she’s going to attack him.  At this point, several other guys start pushing the asshole back and away from her, probably figuring that if a fight was going to go down, they didn’t want to be the pansies who stood around and let a girl take the first swing.

The rest is kinda anti-climactic.  He passed out of the crowd, never to be seen again, and the rest of us rocked out to the show.  And while the telling of this story is considerably longer than my expression of enjoyment at the awesomeness of the concert, it should by no means reflect on my enjoyment of the evening.  Hell, it’s not a good rock show unless *someone* makes an ass out of themselves.

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