lexBlog

« Fairy God Doctor? | Main | Beauty Confidential »

Sun, October 14

No Gentlemen!

On Friday night Jules, Dar and I decided to take a trip down adolescent lane and go to the Tori concert at MSG. Um. Can I say BEST CONCERT OF THE YEAR? We had nosebleed seats, but it did not matter.

Her voice was as solid and gorgeous two and a half hours later as it was in the first song. Some bands get on stage and play you a few oldies and a few newies, and call it a night. Tori actually performed. She came out on stage in a raspberry colored satin strapless dress, and a blonde bobbed wig, then sat herself down at her gorgeous bosendorfer piano. In certain songs, she'd turn around and play the other piano that was sitting behind her. Other times, she'd play BOTH pianos at the SAME TIME--straddling the two different sets of pedals at once. She did a costume change into a space-suit type thing, and donned a long-haired wig with bangs.

But the pinnacle of the performance had to be when she sang Spacedog. This is the song that anyone in the audience in their twenties listened to when they were a sullen teenager, sitting in her room, writing in her journal and feeling like no one understood. The lights on stage fell away so that Tori and her piano seemed to be floating mid-air. Everyone was rapt in attention. People were sniffling away tears all around me: my friends, the gay guys next to me, the couple behind me.

Unfortunately it was a concert where singing along was discouraged by some of the more intense audience members. Jules and I were having a grand ol' time singing "boys on my left side, boys on my right side...", when the dude in front of me leaned his head back and asked, "Excuse me, can you NOT sing?" Yeah, sure buddy. I can NOT sing. If you can go back home and listen to your Tori CD in your room. Alone P.S. You're at a CONCERT. This guy had a lot of nerve. I forgot to mention that he had one of those huge heads that once you find yourself sitting behind them you're like, "Oh crap. I'm sitting behind a HUGE head. This whole concert/play/movie is going to suck." I really should have said, "Excuse me, can you please shrink your abnormally large head? Thanks. Oh, and your girlfriend smells." That would have been much, yes. But funny. Funny.

A rude feel was in the air this weekend I guess. I went to brunch with Kari and Noa at August in the West Village this morning. I was ten minutes late (a Lex norm I shouldn't be proud of). "Oh good! You ordered coffee already." I said, as I sat down. "Well, they had been waiting for you for fifteen minutes already." The waiter informed me, unsmiling. Did I ask?

"So, what's in the frittata?" Kari asked him.
"Well you see, that's what I'm here to explain." He responded. "I'm gonna start with the top of the menu and work my way down." He continued, a pained expression on his face. God forbid we go OUT OF ORDER!!!

When he finished explaining what the fruit of the day was (grapefruit slices, some kind of fruity reduction involved), Noa asked, "Do he and the fritatta not get along or something?"

He did not show his face for the rest of the meal. Instead, a host of bus boys, and a myriad of other waiters and waitresses filled our coffee cups, brought us some salt, and toast, removed our plates,brought us water, and finally, the check.

Finally, he arrived to take our money.

"Do you have change for a five?" I asked him.

"Aw, you're KILLING me." He exclaimed and walked off in a huff.

For twenty five minutes we saw him do everything BUT go toward the cash register to get change. We decided to occupy the prime table by the window out of spite. Until we got antsy. Kari asked the hostess over to our table. She looked relieved. Like she'd been thinking: "Those girls look pissed. They don't want coffee. They're not eating. What the hell are they still here for?"

"We just want five singles." Kari explained.

"Oh!" She said, spinning around and heading to our waiter. A second later she was back, five singles in hand.

"I gave this to him ages ago. I'll slap him for you." She said with a grin.

"Be our guest." I said under my breath.

What an asshole. He purposely made us wait. The restaurant is as big as my dining room table (which seats about four dolls and maybe a teddy bear comfortably), so there is no way he "forgot about us." And every time he passed us we looked at him, and then at the money on our table. And who can forget the big "You're killing me." Certainly he knew.

Rudeness. From men. No gentlemen in this town anymore! But we knew that already.

Posted by lexzog at October 14, 2007 11:37 PM

Comments

Post a comment