Dear fellow concert-goer,
I know you don't want to stand next to me. I assure you the feeling is mutual. I am sorry that I arrived before you and am now standing in front of you. I know my height does not make it easy for you to see. I could move and let you in front of me but...I'm not going to.
You see, I love this band. I love this band enough to come here and stand next to you, soaked in the sweat of the people around me, smelling smells I couldn't possibly have imagined nor did I ever want to. I know that the next few hours will not be easy for me, but neither are most things worth doing. I remain here in the hope that when I depart, all of the bad things that this experience cost me, namely standing next to you and smelling smells, will likewise depart from my mind and will not diminish the good memory that I will be able to take with me for the rest of my life.
And to answer your question, No, I will not help you find your contacts. The ground under our feet is sticky and I don't recall them ever serving beverages here. My ears are ringing from the noise and they will continue for sometime to ring when I leave. See, I wasn't ignoring you, I just couldn't hear you. But when I did finally hear you, I really did wish I had ignored you.
So, before you start to blow a mixture of marijuana and cigarette smoke into my face, making my clothes and body reek of it so much that I must shower when I get home despite the fact that I will not get home till 1 in the morning and have to wake up 6 hours later, just know that we are not friends and we are not alike. I come from a respectable upbringing, built on morals and education. You seem to have crawled out from beneath a dark and desolate rock, threw on something that resembled clothes and came to the concert. When we leave here, you will go one way, and I will be absolutely sure to go the other. I await those pure sweet moments.
The Poor Guy That Had To Stand Next To You