Monday, July 07, 2008

God Bless America

On the Fourth of July, some friends and I made our way to the Mass Ave bridge to check out the show. Despite hating Rascal Flatts with a deep passion, I wanted to enjoy the pyrotechnics.

My friends and I got a spot along the railing that separates the road from the sidewalk because we arrived around 8 p.m. We waved at an adorable baby in front of us, who squirmed in the arms of his Indian parents.

As the bridge got more crowded, people tried to encroach on the space we'd staked out. Stragglers stood on a small concrete ledge directly in front of us, and we asked them to move. Tourists plopped half their bodies on our blanket. Eventually, I spread out like it was a game of Twister to maintain our line of sight.

As the Pops performance began, two kids who looked like they might be 20-years-old climbed over the concrete ledge in front of us, and stopped directly in front of the Indian family in front of us. The baby's grandfather tugged on their shirts and indicated they should get out of the way, but the kids just shrugged and ignored him.

Sick of people's bad behavior, my friend and I started yelling at the kids, explaining the basic rule that if they'd wanted to be in front, they should have showed up before the show began. They rolled their eyes at us, as my other friend hid her eyes to disassociate herself from the two harpies.

When I looked back again, a large man who'd been sitting in a lawn chair at the front of the bridge stood up. He towered above the two punkasses who'd been arguing with us, and weighed easily 300 pounds. He bellowed at the kids, who continued to try to negotiate and stand in front of the crowd. The big man gesticulated wildly, pointing to indicate that the kids should get off the bridge, pronto, and started bumping them forward with his sizable belly.

As the two kids finally scampered off, the crowd erupted into cheers. A woman stood up, faced the crowd, and screamed "That's my man!" as he took his seat again, completely calm about the affair.

That inspired my sense of patriotism more than any crappy Rascal Flatts song ever could.


Anonymous said...

nonplussed means confused.

Anonymous said...

That's a good story. It drives me crazy when people (punk kids or annoying adults) do inconsiderate things. I can't stand rude people like that.

I was driving home from Logan Airport on the Pike exactly when the fireworks went off. In fact, I noticed the people on the bridges watching. I probably saw you. When I flew in, we could see a million little fireworks going off in all the little areas leading up to Boston from the south.

Amy said...

Thanks, anonymous. Words are hard.

me said...

Karma rocks sometimes