Special People

And there's nothing like a big crowd to bring around all the other Special People in the world.  A big crowd at a music festival reminds me of society in general.  There are a lot of people who just want to have fun.  There are also more people than there is elbow room.  Everybody wants to be comfortable and close to the stage, with a clear line of sight.   Most of the people are nice but a few of the people are real jerks.  Mix in alcohol, extend the mix over several hours,  and some of the nice people turn into jerks and some of the jerks get really creative in their jerkiness.  


I try to learn about myself when I'm in a large crowd of people.  I see how insufferable it is when  people try to get themselves into position to receive Special Attention.  It isn't necessarily outrageously Special Attention but it's still Special.  It's like complaining to the cop that you were only parked in the crosswalk for a minute.  I can appreciate that such a parking violation isn't as egregious as parking in the crosswalk all day but it still falls under the banner of Special Behavior.


One of the rules at the festival is that, except for a number of smoking enclaves, the entire festival grounds are designated non-smoking.  I'm an ex-smoker.  I understand that such a rule is irritating and inconvenient.  I get it.  But it's a rule for the general comfort of the entire population.  When I was smoking it wasn't a rule that made life more convenient for me but I went along.  Some people don't go along.  Special People.  I walked through a huge crowd of cigar smoke at one point yesterday, released by an Exceptionally Special Person.  He didn't have to go to the smoking area.


I saw a guy yesterday berating the security personnel who were stationed at the entrance to the festival.  It was near the time that the headliners were scheduled to begin playing and there was a long line of people waiting to clear security and purchase their tickets.  This guy had a jacket in his hands and he was protesting that he should be allowed to go to the head of the line.  "I was already in there!" he was yelling.  "I just went out to get my jacket!"  It must be tough dealing with people like that.  I wouldn't do well at it.  I'd be getting on my walkie-talkie and calling the cops about a man with a "suspicious backpack."  As he sat in the back of the squad car he would have had the time to reflect back on how pleasant it would have been standing in a long line, holding his jacket.


I wanted to lean in and say:"It's OK to park in a handicapped space if you're just going in for a pack of smokes or maybe to buy some pop-tarts for breakfast."


Or the people who lay down a blanket the size of Rhode Island and then wander off for a few hours.  Or the people who bring chairs roughly the height of Mt. Everest.  They can see fine.  They're comfortable.  


Special.