Hi there, pilule you’ve probably met me at a show before. I introduced myself as ‘excuse me’, and the duration of our relationship was brief. Our first contact was a push, specifically of you to the side, and like that, I was gone, just the fleeting memory of an asshole who jostled your drink and invaded your personal space.

Anyone who has gone to a show can tell you that when you are in the standing presence of a musical performer, it is every fan for him or herself. If you truly want a demonstration of Hobbesian theory, take a look at the hypervigilant center group of fans at a sold out show at the House of Blues. I’m not saying that this isn’t warranted. You paid money for this event, if it is an especially exclusive event, where you painstakingly waited by your computer to hit ‘buy’ at the precise minute. You spent time anticipating the event, you listened to the artist to get amped for it, and now you’re here and nothing is going to stop you from making it the best night ever. Nothing.

Now I get all of this, but can I, for a second, get you to think of the little people? As my roommate, who stands above my 5’3” self says, “I kinda feel bad for you at shows. I feel like you have a different experience from me.” And unfortunately, we do. Despite how we paid the same amount for the tickets, and were sometimes robbed by the ticketmaster online fee as well, our short stature forever dooms us to blurry show photos, inescapably lined by the black silhouettes of other fan’s heads. And don’t even suggest to use the zoom function, c’mon we all know that’s cheating. We typically view shows through a rare and valuable space between two heads, and often have to experience the disappointing and bitter cruelty of when the opening closes, as those two heads decide to move or dance (I know, unheard of at a show, right?)

I know, trust is hard. We have all been hurt before. We have had concert experiences ruined by the inebriated and been included against our will in a couple’s less than intimate expression of concert love. We have had the misfortune of losing the fan lottery: ending up next to girls having relentlessly loud and cringeworthingly inane conversation, on the side of a creep who was evidently never told that staring is rude, the over excited but unfortunately deodorant free fan. Our trust has been violated. We had generously allowed one person to come in front of us and to realize, mortified, as they wave over the rest of their 10 person group, and the worst – encountered a ‘stopper’ – a person who we gave our trust to continue moving through the crowd, and then had the gall to come to a halt, often infuriatingly, right on top of your feet – as if you were nothing! And I can’t even speak of the unspeakable horror that comes from landing an unlucky spot at a rave (no dancing room because sweaty people are dancing on you, to a thumping infectious you-must-dance-to-this untz untz? It’s a Kandi filled hell.) This understandably, causes us to all put up a harsh concert facade. Because if we don’t, instead of the person next to you being somebody who you have this cool mutual musical interest with, it will be some jerk with the potential to ruin your night and step on your feet.

But know that we, the pushers, we are not all like that. Some of us have no intention of stopping right in front of you, and are just trying to make it to that little person sized harmlessly unoccupied opening that’s just a little ahead of you. Promise! Some of us perfectly understand and respect concert etiquette, and dream of a concert setting where every person has enough room to dance and is close enough to see as well. And maybe a setting where everybody would line up in gradual height order from shortest to tallest, but perhaps we’re a little biased on that one.

And some of us, but actually like all of us in the grand scheme of the journey that is life, are just trying to legitimately get from A to B. This is also a call to stop shooting daggers and rolling your eyes at people who actually need to navigate through the crowd. I’m sorry that I need to pee. I’m sorry that I was an irresponsible concert goer and did not plan to empty my bladder before the set, or wear an adult diaper. And hey, sometimes people really do need to find their actual friends. It is some scary and symbolic shit pushing through so many unfamiliar angry and inebriated faces in a darkly lit room, desperately searching for the sweet familiarity of your buddy’s face, on a time crunch before the opening notes of the set start — the most terrifying of this that I’ve experienced was this passing year at Outside Lands: the scene was Young the Giant and the mission was to go to the bathroom and return by navigating through waves of fans as far as they eye could see. The strange faces around us all blurred. My friend and I finally made it back to our home base group of friends by identifying the makeshift concert landmarks around us, “We were most definitely left to the second speaker and right next to the guy with the inflatable pink flamingo, but before the guy with Ron Swanson’s head on a stick.”

But seriously, if you’re tall enough to look over my head to wave over your other tall friends, help a shawty out. Be a homie and offer the space in front of yourself. There’s really no harm, your vision won’t be compromised as your gift of height allows you to see over me, and you get good karma points for helping out the less fortunate, which will probably translate to concert karma in obtaining even primer real estate for the next show.

In the end, we are all at the show for the same reason. We think this artist is bitchin, and we want to have a good time. We all want to avoid the annoying fans, and I’m hoping now, that we will begin to trust again, and have a little sympathy to help out the cool little fans as well.