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Our "Oldest Chaser" vs. A Class 5 Creeper

  • Our "Oldest Chaser" vs. A Class 5 Creeper

    So I'm walking up the ramp to the stage door tonight (after yet another great dinner at McCormick & Schmick's) and I am waved down by a smiling couple.  Happens every once in awhile, always a pleasant moment before a show.  I smile back to them, say hi, and stop in my tracks when they tell me that the small tuft of silver hair I barely see below the railing is our "oldest Chaser."  I'm intrigued.  I didn't know we had started cataloguing them.

     

    I look down and there stands a diminutive woman named Antoinette from Pennsylvania (Landsdowne if memory serves correctly), all 93 years of her, who immediately strikes up a conversation with me.  She had seen us on PBS and spoke with enough authority on our group that I became slightly on edge that she may know more about us than I do.  I shake her small hand carefully, tell her that I hope she'll enjoy the show, and am amazed when she tells me to "Tell Dan and Mike and Seggie (breath) and Charlie and Walter and Randy (breath, blink) and Tyler and Jerome and Dave that I said hello."  A 93-year-old woman had just crushed all of our names in under 4 seconds.  I don't think Tyler can even do that and that kid loves a cappella. 

     

    Antoinette's charming, kind, and humble personality was juxtaposed later in the evening by an (I will try to use as civil words as possible here...) ornery, obstinate, and all-around overbearing (whattup, alliteration) young-ish show-goer who was thoroughly enjoying her time in the casino.  

     

    Lady, we all saw you barge into the theater and lumber about during the 60s medley.  We saw you migrate around the venue throughout the remaining portion of the show like a wayward albatross.  Yes, I see you in the back there trying to get my attention during the Beegees number.  I am ignoring you.  We're all ignoring you.  Also, please stop flailing your extremities about like a wacky waving inflatable arm Tube-Man when Mike is trying to sing solo on "Like a Prayer."  Everyone knows you love Madonna, I get it, but it's been five minutes since you started your unwieldy gyrations during the Bon Jovi medley and the frightened people at the table near the back that you just hijacked are growing tired of your drunken shenanigans.  You look like you're trying to conjure a spirit at Stonehenge.  You may have thought at one point back there when I pointed at you and smiled that we were jamming along together to the music, but I was really pointing you out to the ushers to escort you out of the theater.  As if they hadn't noticed.  Cut it out, this isn't your show.

     

    As if you didn't make it awkward for everyone then, you elected to perch yourself at the foot of the stairs by our meet-and-greet line after the show and hawk us with eyes half-open, arms crossed, wobbling on your axis like Scorpion waiting for a fatality in Mortal Kombat.  Thanks for making it really cozy for everyone out there.  Remember when you motioned at me, ordered "Come down here," and I replied "Do you see what I'm doing here?"  I was signing a t-shirt for a child.  Thus began our stand-off for the rest of the evening.  I would ignore you and you chose to:  unsuccessfully cut in line (served), get someone else's attention in the group to get my attention for you (they didn't, served again), and weasel your way around the back of the line past Korby, who sure as heck wasn't going to let you harass us (served, thricely).  Then you started to display certain digits on both of your hands to the group when no one wants anything to do with you, which really made me want to chuck my Sharpie at your face (cap off).  I wish I came up with the nickname of "North Korea" for you then that I just came up with now.

     

    Listen, North Korea, we're not going to go around pompously advertising this, but we're all laid-back, nice guys who would - and do - bend over backwards to accommodate for our fans.  If you want to get in good with us, just approach us like Antoinette and we'll give you our attention and time.  She, by the way, is the graceful 93-year-old woman over there staring at you like you have a horn sticking out of your head who waited patiently to give us each a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek in line.  Be nice, we'll be nice back; it's that simple.  Flip us off while we're taking pictures with people you tried to cut in line to say to us whatever it was you wanted to say and I guarantee you will not be ever allowed back at one of our shows.  Either that or we'll sic our fans on you, which you definitely don't want.

     

    (Antoinette, I agree.  She did look like she had a horn sticking out of her head.  We'll see you in Pennsylvania soon.)

     

    Ryan

     

    Disclaimer:  I don't speak on behalf of the group on this one.  I just really needed to vent after being skeezed out by a Class 5 Creeper tonight.  Thanks for allowing the catharsis to happen.

     

     

     

     

     

     

Ryan_5's picture
on August 19, 2010 - 3:20am

So I'm walking up the ramp to the stage door tonight (after yet another great dinner at McCormick & Schmick's) and I am waved down by a smiling couple.  Happens every once in awhile, always a pleasant moment before a show.  I smile back to them, say hi, and stop in my tracks when they tell me that the small tuft of silver hair I barely see below the railing is our "oldest Chaser."  I'm intrigued.  I didn't know we had started cataloguing them.

 

I look down and there stands a diminutive woman named Antoinette from Pennsylvania (Landsdowne if memory serves correctly), all 93 years of her, who immediately strikes up a conversation with me.  She had seen us on PBS and spoke with enough authority on our group that I became slightly on edge that she may know more about us than I do.  I shake her small hand carefully, tell her that I hope she'll enjoy the show, and am amazed when she tells me to "Tell Dan and Mike and Seggie (breath) and Charlie and Walter and Randy (breath, blink) and Tyler and Jerome and Dave that I said hello."  A 93-year-old woman had just crushed all of our names in under 4 seconds.  I don't think Tyler can even do that and that kid loves a cappella. 

 

Antoinette's charming, kind, and humble personality was juxtaposed later in the evening by an (I will try to use as civil words as possible here...) ornery, obstinate, and all-around overbearing (whattup, alliteration) young-ish show-goer who was thoroughly enjoying her time in the casino.  

 

Lady, we all saw you barge into the theater and lumber about during the 60s medley.  We saw you migrate around the venue throughout the remaining portion of the show like a wayward albatross.  Yes, I see you in the back there trying to get my attention during the Beegees number.  I am ignoring you.  We're all ignoring you.  Also, please stop flailing your extremities about like a wacky waving inflatable arm Tube-Man when Mike is trying to sing solo on "Like a Prayer."  Everyone knows you love Madonna, I get it, but it's been five minutes since you started your unwieldy gyrations during the Bon Jovi medley and the frightened people at the table near the back that you just hijacked are growing tired of your drunken shenanigans.  You look like you're trying to conjure a spirit at Stonehenge.  You may have thought at one point back there when I pointed at you and smiled that we were jamming along together to the music, but I was really pointing you out to the ushers to escort you out of the theater.  As if they hadn't noticed.  Cut it out, this isn't your show.

 

As if you didn't make it awkward for everyone then, you elected to perch yourself at the foot of the stairs by our meet-and-greet line after the show and hawk us with eyes half-open, arms crossed, wobbling on your axis like Scorpion waiting for a fatality in Mortal Kombat.  Thanks for making it really cozy for everyone out there.  Remember when you motioned at me, ordered "Come down here," and I replied "Do you see what I'm doing here?"  I was signing a t-shirt for a child.  Thus began our stand-off for the rest of the evening.  I would ignore you and you chose to:  unsuccessfully cut in line (served), get someone else's attention in the group to get my attention for you (they didn't, served again), and weasel your way around the back of the line past Korby, who sure as heck wasn't going to let you harass us (served, thricely).  Then you started to display certain digits on both of your hands to the group when no one wants anything to do with you, which really made me want to chuck my Sharpie at your face (cap off).  I wish I came up with the nickname of "North Korea" for you then that I just came up with now.

 

Listen, North Korea, we're not going to go around pompously advertising this, but we're all laid-back, nice guys who would - and do - bend over backwards to accommodate for our fans.  If you want to get in good with us, just approach us like Antoinette and we'll give you our attention and time.  She, by the way, is the graceful 93-year-old woman over there staring at you like you have a horn sticking out of your head who waited patiently to give us each a grandmotherly kiss on the cheek in line.  Be nice, we'll be nice back; it's that simple.  Flip us off while we're taking pictures with people you tried to cut in line to say to us whatever it was you wanted to say and I guarantee you will not be ever allowed back at one of our shows.  Either that or we'll sic our fans on you, which you definitely don't want.

 

(Antoinette, I agree.  She did look like she had a horn sticking out of her head.  We'll see you in Pennsylvania soon.)

 

Ryan

 

Disclaimer:  I don't speak on behalf of the group on this one.  I just really needed to vent after being skeezed out by a Class 5 Creeper tonight.  Thanks for allowing the catharsis to happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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