From the Mind of Meegs

The events of this past Saturday night began with us--yours truly, plus Sister #1 and Sister #3--enjoying the spectacle of the American Idol concert, and ended with us being manhandled and physically escorted out of the arena by eight police officers, or 2.6666667 for each of us. All those hours I've spent at the gym must be paying off in making me appear burly and intimidating. Or perhaps it was just those same old intimidating vibes that I always give off.

Permit me to start at the beginning.

I consider it common knowledge that people stand at concerts. Of the dozens--actually probably more like hundreds--of concerts I've been to in my life, I don't think I've ever been to one where there's no standing at all. Most of them, there's standing the entire time. Some acoustic, laid-back shows are mostly sitting affairs, but even at those there's always a group or two of people standing and jamming for at least part of the time. If you don't want to stand, fine. But don't presume that your decision not to stand can be extended to an arena-wide dictum.

Unlike last year's disorganized duet-a-thon, this year's show was set up so that all 10 AI finalists got their own mini-set. My sisters and I had previously decided that only Michael Johns, Jason Castro and David Cook were sufficiently awesome enough to merit standing. The rest, we simply planned to relax, people watch, and maybe surprise ourselves by hearing a good song or two.

At the start of the concert, pretty much everyone was standing. Since I had already decided I didn't want to stand for this part, I stayed seated and just listened. If I cared that much about seeing, I would have either stood up or re-adjusted my body so I could see at least the big screen, which was directly to the right of our line of sight. Gradually, the standing dies down, but almost everyone on the floor is still standing, and there's multiple assorted pockets of standing all over the place.

After enduring Ramielle, we stand up in preparation for MJ's set. Immediately, the two ladies behind us (one of whom, I might add, had a face that looked like an old leather suitcase that once had an acne problem) are immediately all, "We can't see!" Well, more like, "We can't fucking see! Sit the fuck down!"

Me: "If you can't see, then stand up!"
Sister #1: "We paid as much for these seats as you did. Plenty of people are standing. It's ridiculous to think that you're going to see a concert and no one is going to stand. We like him and we're going to stand."
Them: "We want to see him! We like him too!"
Me: "Well, if you like him so much, you shouldn't have any problem standing the fuck up!"

They don't say anything more. Michael (who, I might add, is hot to a retina-searing degree almost past believing) ends his set after three songs, and we sit down. I adjust myself so I can see the screen, should any standees block my view. That's all part of the concert experience. Several more performers pass by, then it's intermission.

The first performer after the intermission is Jason Castro. We've decided we want to rock out for him, so up we go. About halfway into the first song, I am blinded. Someone is shining a light directly into my face. I truly have no idea what is going on. The crowd noise is deafening. I can't hear anything. I'm relying on my sight to tell me what's going on, but now I am blinded. After about 20-30 seconds of this confusion, Sister #1 finally notices that some cops are apparently telling us to sit down. Well, by the time she communicates this to us (grabbing Sister #3's arm since, again, the noise is so loud that we can barely hear each other), the cops have already ordered every single person in our row out--about 10 people--so they can get to us.

By this point, the women behind us are saying things like, "See! We told you we'd get you! You fucked with the wrong bitch! You're going to get kicked out!" This pisses off Sister #3, so she starts yelling back that they better shut up unless they want a piece of her. The first cop gets to me. He's all, "Let's go, ladies!" I turned my body to block him from getting to my sisters. I said, "Sir, the women behind us have been yelling and cursing at my sister. If we're getting kicked out for standing, of all things, why are they not getting kicked out?" He reaches around me to grab Mary by the arm.

Me: [pulling his hands off] "Put your hands on my sister one more time, and I'll report you.

But at this point, there's little left to do but walk out, the women yelling the whole time. When we get out, there are literally about eight cops standing around us, encircling us. I repeat my question about why standing is an ejection-worthy offense but cursing someone out isn't. He says, "I can't say because I didn't see anything like that." Lie! He was standing right there.

Then they start yelling at us. Every time I try to point out that half the arena is standing, they cut us off, telling us to shut up and listen here and if we don't they're going to take us out in handcuffs and if they say we can't stand well then we can't stand and all that. They yell for a solid five minutes or so. At one point, another officer grabs me on the elbow and Sister #3 jumps in. "You better not be touching my sister."

Finally, they say, "If you want to go in and stand in the back and watch there, you can. But that's it." At this point, Sisters #1 and #3 both say that they just want to leave. I wanted to go at that point too, but I knew we'd regret leaving later. So I said, "Let's just go back in and watch." Three of the cops follow us back in and stand about 10 feet from us, where they'd stay the entire rest of the show.

Of course, as soon as we get in, I see groups of people standing all over.

I go up to one of the cops and point out a group of girls standing. I say, "Are they going to be asked to sit down?" He goes and tells them to sit down.

About a minute after he returns, I point out another group of girls standing. I say, "Are they going to be asked to sit down?" He tells them to sit down.

About a minute after he returns (clearly, he has underestimated my persistence) I point out another group and I say, "Are they going to be asked to sit down?"

He says, "If you're just here to nitpick, you can leave."

I can't recall my exact response. I believe it was something along the lines of "You started this" or "You opened this door."

At that point, I could almost swear I saw a look flash across his face. Whatever it was, it passed in about three seconds, making it hard to say exactly what the look was. But it almost seemed like...regret? Like, Hmmmm...you know, it was fun for a few minutes there to whip out my phallic flashlight and wave it around for everyone to see, like some sort of power-drunk prick. But maybe we did get a little carried away, and paint ourselves into a corner that we can't occupy with any consistency.

I mean, all we were doing was standing. If we were standing on our seats, or if we were drunk, or if we were throwing things or if we were doing anything beyond what over half the arena was doing, I'd say so and I'd be proud of it. I am deeply proud of my ability to be an ass when needed. But this wasn't one of those times. We certainly weren't doing anything meriting physical contact or verbal abuse, with some asshole a foot and a half from my face, blowing his stank-ass breath all over the place.

So we did what any sensible person would do. We made up our minds to have as much fun as we could with the remaining time. We screamed as loud as we could and danced in the aisles and generally had a great time. We even screamed at the top of our lungs for Syesha, who we hate, just to be as loud as possible. At one point, when it got quiet, I screamed "I want to have your baby, David!" to David Cook, even though I don't want to have his baby (well, maybe, but he's down a bit on the list). But it seemed like a good thing to yell. Sister #1 kept yelling, "Wow! These VIP seats are fabulous!" occasioning dirty looks from the cops. Snerk.

After the show was over, we immediately walked straight out in the opposite direction from all the cops. So yeah. I got almost literally dragged out of an American Idol concert by the police. An American Idol concert. Dragged. By the police. In every element of that sentence is a slice of the absurdity in which I live my life.

Now I'm torn between two competing impulses. The first is to laugh. Only I, having not learned my lesson last year, could find myself at a freakin' American Idol show. Only I could almost get myself arrested for no reason at all. But at least only I will tell this story at parties.

The second is to get very, very angry. My life is largely in the tank, and I can't even enjoy some pointless shit like an American Idol concert. Figures.

With the mellowing influence of time, it would stand to reason that the former reaction will gradually become more and more appealing. So far, that is not the case. Over the last 48 hours, I have only gotten angrier and angrier.

If I ran into any one of those officers today, I would sincerely hope that they have testicle insurance. Because at least one of them would be in the market for some new nuts about now. Asshats, all of them. Unprofessional asshats. YES I AM TALKING ABOUT YOU, ROSEMONT, IL, POLICE! Shove it sideways up your ass, fellas.