The term “douchebag” is not yet listed in the dictionary as an adjective, but when that day comes there is no doubt in my mind it will be a tough decision on whose picture will accompany the entry. Gawker.com loves to point out the myriad of characters earning the esteemed title of "douchebag" who would fit in nicely in a hall of fame, and I’d like to submit my own. I’m pretty sure I haven’t told this story on here before but if I have please just read it again. Bringing that up might be considered a little douchey.
I’m not a fan of the Dave Matthew’s Band (a nomination into the douchey music category?) but two years ago when my boyfriend at the time offered me and some friends VIP passes to the concert in the park I thought, "only VIP makes Dave Matthews worth seeing" and accepted. (Note: I realize there are a lot of DM fans out there and a lot of them are my friends. I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings but I really, really hate Dave Matthews. I can’t even explain where my hate for the band comes from so please, take no offence. I still love you. Just please, if you’re trying to make out with me and want to “set the mood,” you might be better off playing the theme to Hee Haw.)
I rallied up some friends who I knew liked the band which included a few people from work. I told said work friends to meet me downstairs in the lobby at 5:30 and we’d go up to Central Park together. One of these people, we’ll call her Norah, worked for an attorney in my firm who we found out was also going up to the concert. In fact, earlier in the day he had been bragging to Norah about how one of his clients had gotten him tickets. I’m sure he was just casually mentioning it to her, but seeing as Norah was a huge DM fan, it’s probably safe to say there was some face rubbing going on in there. When I told Norah of my passes she, of course, was so excited she had to tell her boss that she too would be attending the concert! VIP style!
The work day was over. Hooray! Time for some Dave Matthews. Hooray? Yes, hooray because I love making my friends happy. Emphasis on friends.
I head downstairs to the lobby of my building and see 4 of my friends waiting. Oh look, there’s Norah’s boss. What’s he doing here? Oh, he’s saying hi to me. And giving me a hug? Wow, we’re best friends now! Cool! And a little weird since we’ve never spoken before. Not once. But there’s no time to suspect foul play... we’ve got a crappy outdoor concert to attend! Norah’s boss says he’s going to ride up to the concert with us so we all get on the train and head up.
We arrive at CP and there’s a mob of people, as you can imagine. Just because I hate DM, doesn’t mean everyone in NY does. I’m trying to take the lead, telling my friends to stick near me as I talk to the woman with the clipboard to get us passes for the VIP tent (which is said to have unlimited drinks and food. Another thing making DM worth seeing).
“Strange,” I think. “Norah’s boss is still here.”
The woman with the clipboard asks me how many people are in my party and I say, “Fi…” and Norah’s attorney shouts, “Six!” I stop talking (because I was interrupted) and whip my head around in his direction. This douchebag lawyer just stands there staring at me with this, “Go ahead. Say I’m not with your party, SECRETARY” look on his face. Had there not been a mob of pissed-off New Yorkers surrounding me, my friends eagerly awaiting a free concert and Dave Matthews in my future, I might have been calm about this whole thing. But no, this is where the anger began. I dug my nails into my palms and said, “Six.”
This alone is not enough to make me categorize someone as a douchebag for the rest of their days, you guys. Oh no.
We get into the park, walk on the red carpet, past the VIP tent and on to the lawn so we can get our spot in the taped off section. And the douchebag attorney is still with us. I say to my friends, “Hey, let’s go to the VIP tent and get food and drinks in two groups so we don’t lose our spot.” 3 of my friends go and oh look! The attorney is going with them!
40 minutes later I’m still standing there in my spot on the lawn. I’ve sent my other friends to look for everyone because it’s taking way longer than it should and I’m in desperate need of a beer.
An hour has passed and 2 friends come back and say, “We can’t take anything out of the VIP tent (meaning they can’t bring this poor desperate lady a beer) and everyone is looking for Norah’s boss because his wife is calling Norah from outside because she can’t get in touch with her husband and she needs him to come get her in the concert.”
You know, since he was supposed to meet her out there with the tickets from his client.
Can I also just add this information… his wife is 7 months pregnant.
So here’s the part where he went from “annoying guy I work with” to “complete and total douchebag asshole.”
I didn’t get food or drinks in the VIP tent because he was off gallivanting around. He left his pregnant wife outside (with the angry mob) so he could stay inside eating and drinking and VIPing. He pissed me off so much that when he finally did arrive, with his very angry, very pregnant wife, I told my friends I was too annoyed to stay and I went home.
Had he asked me from the start if I could get him and his pregnant wife (I mean… you guys she was PREGNANT FOR GOD’S SAKE!) into the VIP section I would have of course said yes, had I been able to!
No. No no no. This is not the way to go about getting stuff, you douchey douchebag with douchey sauce on top of your DOUCHEY HEAD.
I also hear he cheats on his wife.
I’m just saying.
Please, someone tell me you can top that story. I’m forever going to think this guy is a complete and total douchebag and I’d like to nominate him for the Douchebag Hall of Fame.
PS – I think the fact that I said, “VIP” 20 times in this post also nominates me for the HOF. This I know.