So the other night, Leila and I ventured down to the arena to see Bruce Springsteen in concert for the first time in our lives. I was excited. For a singer songwriter who spent his formative years in his bedroom, jumping on the bed and playing along to the entire “Born in the USA” album on a squash racquet, this felt a little like my pilgrimage to Mecca.

We suited up, hopped a cab and found our seats beside the stage, second level, one row off the rail. Awesome. Lights go down, screams go up, and Bruce and the old E-Street gang hit the stage with “Atlantic City.” The Boss is the shit. The guy’s 50 something now and can rock as hard as anyone I’ve seen. That’s why he’s The Boss.

All is going well. A few songs go by, having a great time. Suddenly, I hear something behind me, someone calling to me. I can’t quite figure out what’s going on, so I turn around. Some meathead four rows back is screaming at us: “Sit Down!!! Sit Down!!!”
“What???? Are you serious????” I scream back.
“Sit Down!!!!” The guy is upset.
“Stand up!!” I yell.” You’re at a freaking Springsteen concert! What the hell are you thinking? Are you serious???”
And that’s when I notice that everyone else in our ENTIRE section, aside from three girls directly behind us, are sitting down! I was shocked and amazed.
“Yeah, sit down” someone else yells. “Yeah” another one.
I turn to Leila completely shaken. We were surrounded by the biggest losers on the planet. I looked down at Bruce on stage, screaming his lungs out to “Lonesome Day” and I feel awful.
Everything rushes through my mind: Should I sit down? Am I ruining the show for these people? Have I broken some kind of code for Springsteen concerts where everyone must sit down? If I turn around and tell that meathead to go F himself, do I end up getting kicked out? Is there a more zen way to deal with this? Could I take this meathead in a fight if I have to? Do I even know how to fight?
I don’t sit down. I keep dancing. But the next song is a slow one, and I think, okay, I’ll sit down for this one.
So I take my seat, and as I’m sitting there, listening to the people behind me clap at my subservience, I start getting really antsy. This is an important moment, I think to myself. I can’t live my life this way. I can’t sit down for this guy. For any of these people. These people who only want to take, and can’t find the energy to send some love back. I can’t bend to The man like that. The Man sucks! If Bruce were to look up here right now and see me sitting down, he would not approve.
So I did what any self respecting foot soldier of the revolution would do: I stood up. I stood and I watched that show from my feet. I paid for that seat, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to use it!!! Leila joined me, and we danced our asses off in joy and in protest.
And when Springsteen threw his hands in the air for everyone to Get Up, I turned around, pointed at the meathead, and I threw my hands in the air with a smile from ear to ear.
By the end of the show, everyone was on their feet. I knew they’d come around.
But that was a definitive moment in my life. You can’t sit down for the revolution. You got to stand up, even when everyone else is sitting. You got to be strong on your feet, own your space, and sometimes you gotta piss people off if you know you’re right. I think the boss would have approved. As he played his final song of the night, I’m pretty sure I saw him look up and wink at me. I winked back. It was a moment. We know what’s going on. We know.

m@

P.S. It did occur to me that the meathead or his wife had a disability and couldn’t stand up, but I checked. That wasn’t the case. They were healthy. Otherwise I would have probably felt really bad.