Uncle Arthur's Bedtime Story
"I didn't know your boyfriend played air-guitar. You should have told me, I play air-drums."
My "boyfriend" was the real-life embodiment of the Uncle Arthur bedtime story of the greedy child getting his due. As the bedtime story goes, big brother always wants the biggest and best, and in this case, pastry. But when his greed plays out and he pokes his fork in for his first wonderful bite, the turnover is air-filled and deflates, teaching him a very important lesson about selfishness and taking the best for himself. In my case, it was an auditorium seat closer to the stage, rather then a flaky dessert.
Karen had bought two tickets to see U2 in Omaha and asked me to go with her. She didn't ask me to pay her back, but did say that she wanted the better of the two seats. When we got to the arena I made a production of sitting in the seat closer to the stage, both affording equally good views. And then my armrest-mate sat down. Upon sitting he turned to me and generously offered, to me, the green olive floating at the bottom of his beer cup. Being the largest green olive I've ever seen and having never seen an olive in a beer, I gagged back my thanks. He introduced himself as either Rob, or Randy and then tried to engage me in a conversation about how U2 is the greatest band ever. I had to admit that I wasn't that familiar with the group and was just along for the ride. His astonishment prompted him to turn to me throughout the rest of the concert and reinforce his opinion with whatever song was being played at the time. All the while, on my other side, Karen kept up a running commentary about Randy and his wife, "Oh, they're swingers, they're totally swingers. You're going home with them tonight...I can drive home by myself, don't worry..." Another olive offer and he was so toasted he could hardly climb over the back of the seats for more beer, a process that required him to hand me his spit cup, something I didn't recognize until I was holding it. The opener was Kenye West and during U2's encore applause I was again engaged in a conversation about how good Kenye's performance was. I agreed with him, but in reality I had turned away before I could add my opinion, the beer-spit in my eye was just too much, the lesson on greediness, well learned.
My "boyfriend" was the real-life embodiment of the Uncle Arthur bedtime story of the greedy child getting his due. As the bedtime story goes, big brother always wants the biggest and best, and in this case, pastry. But when his greed plays out and he pokes his fork in for his first wonderful bite, the turnover is air-filled and deflates, teaching him a very important lesson about selfishness and taking the best for himself. In my case, it was an auditorium seat closer to the stage, rather then a flaky dessert.
Karen had bought two tickets to see U2 in Omaha and asked me to go with her. She didn't ask me to pay her back, but did say that she wanted the better of the two seats. When we got to the arena I made a production of sitting in the seat closer to the stage, both affording equally good views. And then my armrest-mate sat down. Upon sitting he turned to me and generously offered, to me, the green olive floating at the bottom of his beer cup. Being the largest green olive I've ever seen and having never seen an olive in a beer, I gagged back my thanks. He introduced himself as either Rob, or Randy and then tried to engage me in a conversation about how U2 is the greatest band ever. I had to admit that I wasn't that familiar with the group and was just along for the ride. His astonishment prompted him to turn to me throughout the rest of the concert and reinforce his opinion with whatever song was being played at the time. All the while, on my other side, Karen kept up a running commentary about Randy and his wife, "Oh, they're swingers, they're totally swingers. You're going home with them tonight...I can drive home by myself, don't worry..." Another olive offer and he was so toasted he could hardly climb over the back of the seats for more beer, a process that required him to hand me his spit cup, something I didn't recognize until I was holding it. The opener was Kenye West and during U2's encore applause I was again engaged in a conversation about how good Kenye's performance was. I agreed with him, but in reality I had turned away before I could add my opinion, the beer-spit in my eye was just too much, the lesson on greediness, well learned.
posted by Ellen at 8:54 PM
3 Comments:
Next time a guy offers you his olive, I say run. I mean, any guy worth his beer-addled memories wouldn't want to give up a huge, alcohol infused olive, would he?
You know U2 is huge when Kanye West is the opener. I'd have paid for both. I hope you bootlegged a bit on your cell phone . . .
Sounds like a swingin concert! I'd share my beer soaked olive with you any day.
I now have your number, and shall be calling you sometime in the next week. Wanna party with dead animals?
My friends are so weird. Scott, I thought you didn't like chocolate. Ellen I am very jealous of your concert, not so much of "Randy," which works better with the swingers theory, or "Rob," which goes better with what he did to what could have been a very enjoyable evening.
Post a Comment
<< Home