No Free Passes

As anyone who’s ever seen me live can vouch for, I’m no stranger to hecklers.  I especially expect it from rowdy late show crowds in Texas. In Fort Worth this past weekend, I stumbled on a gem of a pair.  A guy was in the front row seated next to a girl, and the two of them must have interrupted the show ten times before I even got on stage.

They were also very vocal about not being “together.” I’d already checked the guy hard enough that he escorted himself to the lobby. The girl just kept glaring and trying to interrupt, completely unable to let someone else have the spotlight. I kept the show going.

“I‘m currently single and–“

“No shit,” she said, and loudly.

“Hey, you’re single too, Princess. Let’s try to be nice.”

“Umm, I am a WIDOW. How do you feel now?” she yells.

There was an uncomfortable pause as it sunk in, and then reflexively I just go, “So… suicide?”

It’s the meanest thing I’ve ever said, but there are no free passes.  Not at a show, not in life. We’ve all been through things. Your personal tragedies don’t give you the right to be a horrible person.



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