Smelly armpits and junk-punching protocol

Today's Theme Thursday topic is concerts, something I have limited experience with, outside of my kid's school concerts, which up until this year weren't really concerts as much as loud noises and an exercise in auditory pain tolerance. My conundrum with concerts is this: while I enjoy the musical thrashy stylings of bands such as Korn, Saliva and Motley Crue, I do not enjoy mosh pits, getting elbowed in the face or having my ass grabbed by a random. Unless we are currently having intimate relations or we're good friends, do not grab my ass unless you enjoy being punched in the junk. And since I think junk-punching is a violation of mosh-pit protocol, this is part of why I avoid any situation that requires moshing. That, and my idea of a good time does not involve my face in someone's unwashed, smelly armpit or having my hair accidentally set on fire with a lighter during an epic rendition of "Home Sweet Home".

The last concert I went to was an Elton John show in Las Vegas. I'm not a huge EJ fan, but I ended up enjoying the hell out of it because 1) everyone stayed sitting in their seats instead of standing in them and  spending 2 hours getting knocked over by some asshat running up and down the aisle was nice, 2) there was a bar and after 5 large cocktails I decided I loved Elton John, as well as everyone sitting in the vicinity, which I think I proclaimed rather loudly every 5 minutes, 3) the whole audience got free feather boas to wear, and 4) the people sitting next to us won their tickets from a "what's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done" radio contest and I laughed so hard at her story about how she attacked some guy in a parking garage elevator because she thought he was a rapist but as it turns out he was only trying to push the button for the floor he was going to, and got kicked in the nuts and stabbed with her car keys for his efforts. After the paramedics came and stitched up his face, she apologized profusely and felt so bad she insisted on calling his wife to explain why her husband was coming home with 6 stitches and bruised testicles. Hands down, the best story I ever heard and totally worth of winning a radio contest.

That experience was completely different from the Metallic concert I attended in the early 90's, which made me swear off concerts altogether. To start with, the floor area was seated, which was fucking stupid, because NO ONE at a Metallica concert is going to sit calmly in their assigned seats. We were 10th row center, which was awesome until the concert started and it turned into a fucking free-for-all. I was forced to punch at least 3 guys in the junk, the smell of armpits hung in the air like a toxic cloud and I was deaf for a week after. While it was cool to see my beloved Metallica rock the shit out of that stadium, all the pummeling and chaos was too much for me and I decided the only way to see a concert was from a VIP box that served top-shelf booze and snacks, where boob-grabbing was kept to a minimum and only done by invitation, and the only chance of getting a concussion was from a drunken wipeout due to all that fine, fine top-shelf booze.

So until I can afford to avoid the unwashed masses and smugly perch high in my tower that provides bottle service, the only concerts I will be attending are Spielberg's, where I can listen to high schoolers murder the theme to Mission Impossible and not worry about having to punch anyone in the junk