An Open Letter to the Patrons of the 9:30 Club

This is the second in my highly irregular series of open letters. The first addressed some odd behavior practiced by the men at my gym.

Dear Patrons of the 9:30 Club,

I put up with a lot from you because we have so many shared loves. A love of good music, a love of the U St./Shaw area, a love of $5 gin and tonics. But lately I think you're taking our relationship for granted. I recognize that a standing-room-only concert experience will never be a polite affair, but some behavior I witnessed at the October 13th Yelle show means we have to have a little chat.

No matter how dancey a concert gets, it is NEVER a dance floor. On a dance floor you can move wherever you want, in whatever patterns and directions, without doing a whole lot to disrupt anyone else's experience. At a concert, one thousand people are given a relatively small bit of floor space to watch something on a stage. When you and your stiletto-wearing friend clasp hands and crash sideways through ten people before trampling my feet, you are acting like you're on a dance floor. That's why so many people were yelling at you and "accidentally"
spilling drinks in your hair.

At a concert, you should pretend that there is a little box around you. Its walls are three inches behind, in front and on either side of you. This box extends to the ceiling. That is your dancing box. You can jump up and down in it, you can move your feet in it, you can bop to the left and to the right. But if any part of your body leaves this box you are probably annoying the people around you. For instance: At the Hot Chip show, the guy who leaned back into my chest every time the band sang "Laid back..." left his box. The girl at Of Montreal who waved her hands around like she was being attacked by bees? She left her box. And her ring finger went into my mouth three times. It was disgusting.

(Special note to couples: Even if you are standing together, your box does not get any bigger. If you make out, grind or otherwise simulate intercourse during a show you have probably left your box. And the back/forward pelvis action of your humping motions actually affect the people behind and in front of you. It's a double infraction.)

The choice to dance at a show is a personal one. I will support any dancing that doesn't cause bodily injury to the people around you. However, I myself prefer not to let my body move at shows. I am way too tall and way too gangly. If I move my feet I step on toes and if I raise my arms I obstruct sightlines. This is why I express my joy by bobbing in place and singing along. No one gets hurt. So please, random straight girl, do not spend the first four songs tugging on my arm and manually moving my hips so that I will dance with you. Similarly, don't track down my friends after the show and tell them that you hate me. When I told you to "Leave me alone" it was for good reason.

On the subject of height: Though I am 6'2, I will do everything in my power to make sure the person directly behind me can see. If I say to you "Hey, would you like to stand in front of me" do not call me a jerk. I am actually trying to be considerate. If you choose not to stand in front of me when I offer, do not spend the rest of the show glowering at me or whispering to your companions while pointing at me and making stabbing motions.

Please watch what you say at the show. You, random straight guy, created an uncomfortable situation at the last Hercules and Love Affair concert when you ascertained which of the band's vocalists was a lesbian and then screamed "I'm just glad the smoking hot one isn't a lesbian." No, dude, the smoking hot one is an MTF. And is so far out of your league that you're lucky to be in the same room as her.

If you want a souvenir from your concert experience, you can buy a t-shirt or give the bass player a blowjob (lord knows I've tried.) Do not record the entire show on your camera or cell phone. Because that means I have to watch the entire show through your camera or cell phone. I'm tall, remember? When you hold something up above your head it will usually rest at my eye level. Plus it can be really distracting when the security guard tromps through the audience to kick you out during my favorite song.

Finally, please don't steal my clothes. It creates an awkward moment when I catch you leaving the club in the highly distinctive red, white and blue Adidas jacket that I lost 30 minutes prior. Although I would have enjoyed it when you had to throw out all the used kleenexes in the pockets.

So in summation: You are not in your living room listening to a CD. Please have as much fun as you want to when you go the 9:30 Club. Dance until your uterus drops, or your backwards "Cocks" baseball cap fuses to your skull. But keep in mind that there are a lot of other people around you who are trying to have fun too.