I've never been a crowd person. Large, noisy gatherings tend to make me anxious and defensive. I don't know why. Maybe because when all you can see is the backsides of other people, most of whom are taller than you, the potential of being trampled to death seems somehow much more likely.
I know, what is the likely-hood of being trampled in a crowd of relatively peaceful people?
Well, actually, I have been knocked over when there were no real crowds. The resulting injury left me with no option but to keep
walking hobbling for several miles until I could get someplace I could remove my boots and possibly seek first aid.
I've been told being knocked over was not a result of my stature, but the fact that I walk slowly and with an uneven gait.
Whatever.
The point is, the danger is real.
So to venture out on the 4th of July to the park filled with crowds of hot, hungry people to see a 100 year anniversary firework show was quite a feat. One I achieved with lots of acetaminophen. I know what you're thinking... acetaminophen doesn't help with anxiety. No, it doesn't, but it does help on days when you wake up feeling like you got beat up with a Louisville Slugger and can barely walk. Thank you screwed up auto-immune system and the disease that made it that way. Nevertheless, I was determined not to miss spending the holiday with family and friends, especially after a year of pandemic confinement.
Unsteady and crabby, I headed out, snapping and snarling the entire way. I apologized so much for my attitude I was mistaken for a Canadian, but for a change, I wasn't the entertainment. That role was handled by the teeming crowds around me.
People are funny.
First of all, let me say schools have been somewhat successful in teaching people to stand in line. Well mostly. I mean, there was a general semblance of a line that cut through our picnic area and headed toward the multiple food trucks parked at the curb. But having taught the basics of forming lines, schools stopped, not wanting to overload their students with more than the basics. The lines were chaotic affairs resulting in confusion and trampling blankets. One of which I was laying on as I contemplated more acetaminophen while recovering from a trip to the port-a-potty.
After having food spilled on me, I opted to leave the blanket where I risked being stepped on to take refuge in a chair behind the coolers where I could view the entertainment in relative safety. Eventually my husband got tired of watching people trip over other folk's belongings only to discover they were in the wrong line for the food they wanted (or not in line at all, but standing behind a group of picnickers who had staked their spot out earlier and were trying to keep their children from being trampled), and using his "official" voice, separated the lines to angle off in different directions.
He has an amazing voice, one that bespeaks calm and authority.
At any rate, everyone listened and no one argued. It was pretty cool.
Now ensconced in the relative safety of my chair I awaited sunset and the start of what promised to be a spectacular firework display.
No, not talking about the unsanctioned display.
Seriously, what kind of adult has his kids play with mini firework displays in a crowd?
Especially when the mini display is specifically banned?
I was waiting for the REAL display to take place far over our heads
with earth shaking booms and dazzling displays of pyrotechnics put on by the professionals. Unfortunately, as darkness began to descend, I began to detect what could be a potentially glaring problem.
Not all the food vendors stopped serving at the appointed time. It wasn't a surprise, wait time in the lines to obtain food was an hour long. I didn't begrudge anyone a late dinner or the vendors making an
extra buck after a lean year, but I wasn't the only one in the vicinity becoming concerned about display viewing. People all around us were beginning to grumble. So my husband did what any mature adult would do in such a situation, he spoke to the event staff.
As you may have guessed, they were as responsive to his request they speak with the food vendor as they were addressing the sparkler family.
The fireworks began.
I had just enough. So had everyone else. I decided to address the matter myself. Thankfully, the acetaminophen kicked in, otherwise this might be a blog about my subsequent arrest. (Of course my faithful husband accompanied me, just in case my temper was stronger than the meds.)
Putting on my good manners and using my polite voice (yes, I have one) I asked the owner of the truck if he could kindly turn off the outside lights on his truck. He was a bit irritated, so I followed this up by telling him we very much appreciated his consideration. As he grumbled his way into the truck, I called out a thank you and made my way back to my seat.
The exterior light went off. The kids around us gave their thanks.
THEN THE TRUCK LIGHTS WENT BACK ON!
Did I see duct tape in my loving spouse's hand when he told me to stay put? Not sure, I remained seated while my husband headed back toward the event staff before things could get out of hand. Unfortunately he was too late. Other, less medicated and less understanding individuals decided to address the matter themselves using less than civil tactics. The firework display was augmented with an increased police presence and muted flashing blue lights.
Evidently someone pulled the plug on the truck, damaging it in the process. I felt bad for the business owner. I felt bad for the police trying to find the culprit in the masses. I felt bad for anyone who didn't get their dinner. Fortunately, no one was physically harmed in this totally avoidable circumstance.
The fireworks were terrific, supplemental entertainment non-withstanding. I'm looking forward to the future live events.
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