Oh my, folks, what could possibly ruin the enjoyment of seeing your college buddy playing mandolin in a bluegrass band on a Sunday, while drinking beer with long-lost bandmates?
You already know the answer: goddamned hippies dancing in the corner. I mean, come on. And this wasn't some outdoor festival - it was a freaking Irish pub. They had to pay a cover, for chrissakes -- they came on PURPOSE.
I couldn't even look, but my husband assures me that they somehow managed to dance to a COMPLETELY different rhythm than the actual music blaring from the speakers. And one of them didn't even clap - she just kind of waved her hand around in the air. Maybe clapping was too "corporate" for her. My husband's theory is that she was invoking the Spirit of the Goddess.
The most amazing thing was that these guys were really, really trying to be hippies. They were older, with long hair and beards, yes, but well-trimmed long hair and beards, implying that they have actual jobs and are not just annoying college students. Okay, I have to stop writing, because even the MEMORY of these jackasses is filling me with rage so blinding, I can't even see the keyboard.
Good thing I took those typing classes in high school.
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