Opinion

Rudeness under the stars

TBO.com
Published: November 29, 2012

It was to be a lovely date night of orchestra music under the stars, with wine, cheese and crackers and maybe even a bit of smooching if things went well. What actually happened was a typical Harris & Co. experience. Apparently, someone forgot to give out housekeeping instructions.

We set up chairs in front of the musicians' tent, choosing our location carefully. The breeze was blowing, twilight fell and orchestra music floated in the darkness. It was perfect, and I complimented Mr. Harris on the evening. This was the cue for reality to step in and mess it up.

A group moved in behind us, talking loudly. We waited for them to quiet as we strained to hear the music. They continued laughing and carrying on. Apparently they had not paid to hear the music and seemed not to realize we had. When the orchestra paused, we gathered our things and made our move. As we departed, one of the men loudly remarked, "Yeah, I'm loud, I'm real loud." Thanks for the advisement. We might have missed that.

Our next location brought us to a quieter area, but not for long. Parents returned from a restroom break with a handful of kids. At first the children played quietly, but soon became so loud we could no longer hear the music. As fellow concert-goers shushed the family, the kids played holler-under-a-blanket, and we once again made our move.

In the dark, intermission in full swing, it was difficult to find what we were searching for. "Over here," I whispered to Mr. Harris. The senior couple advised it was pretty quiet where they were. "One child was having a screaming fit, but they escorted them out just a bit ago," the wife said.

"How does one get escorted out of an outdoor concert," I questioned Mr. Harris, who just shook his head. The orchestra began readying to play. A low growling sound could be heard. I glanced over at Mr. Harris and could barely make out his expression in the darkness.

Was he feeling frisky? Was the moonlight causing him to revert to a primitive means of expression? "What are you doing," I whispered coquettishly. "It's not me," he said simply. "What," I whispered huskily, still hearing the low rumble of his desire. "It's not me," he insisted, "It's the guy behind me." "Are you sure," I questioned. "Oh yeah, I'm sure," he curtly remarked. "What the heck is he doing?" I whispered. "I have no idea," Mr. Harris said, adding something that can't be included here.

We silently cracked up as Mr. Rumbles continued, well, groaning to the music. We were almost able to ignore the growling sounds, but alas, a car alarm began sounding from the parking area. Then a nearby child started screaming. Believe me, I was almost there myself!

"That's it," Mr. Harris whispered at me, nerves finally fraying. "Next time, we're bringing the dog, some fireworks, a mini slingshot and a can of peanuts!"

The picnic group in front of us then decided it was time to go. We watched the man wrestle his folding chair as his friends offered suggestions, waving their flashlights in our eyes. Glancing away we couldn't help but notice all the people who were busy disturbing those around them. Loud talking and ringing phones made it clear they cared not a bit they were ruining the evening for others.

"Baby," I declared, "Make that two mini slingshots and an extra large can of peanuts!"