Salutations, traveler of The Internets! Welcome to William's Bloody Hell, so named after our founder, Sir Bloody William.
He is seen in the likeness above in a rare, 19th century woodcut. This
image was rumoured to have been
commissioned after a bout of unpleasantness
in the White Chapel district of London. Do enjoy your stay and peruse our many, varied offerings, much of which cannot be found elsewhere!
:: Today's soundtrack: Pet Shop Boys "What Have I Done to Deserve This?" ::
For those of you who have never seen me in person, let me tell you that I am monstrous. Perhaps I should explain. I'm tall. Quite tall, actually. Not only that, but I am broad in the shoulder, which makes me about as wide as any two average sized people standing side by side (well, maybe one and half). Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not gigantic like Comic Book Guy on the Simpsons or anything, nor am I cut and hunky like the Sylvester Stallone of yore, but I'm still pretty damn huge. Let's just say if you needed to move a refrigerator up a flight of stairs or two and you could only ask one guy for help, that guy would be me.
Being a fellow who is both Big AND Tall is not as advantageous as it may sound. Oh sure I'm a one man furniture mover and I can put the star on an X-mas tree without a step ladder, but there are horrific draw backs. Medicine cabinet mirrors are never hung high enough which makes shaving in the morning an exercise in stooped over awkwardness. Finding shirts that simultaneously have long enough sleeves and don't choke me to death about the neck is a challenge. Shower heads are aimed at my face or chest area rather than the top of my head. And of course, I'm constantly banging my head into lowly hung displays at shops and threatened with decapitation by ceiling fans.
There is, however, one huge item in the plus column for someone of my stature: general admission rock and roll shows. Someone as large as I am can get to pretty much any vantage point he wants and no one can stand in his way as he trudges through the masses of littler people.
Last weekend I was fortunate enough to get a ticket to see Evanescence live at the Avalon Ballroom in Boston. I got there late, which was about half way through the opening act's performance. I got in and made my way around the outer rim until their show was over. Now, if you are unfamiliar with the layout of the Avalon, it is set up thusly: Generally speaking it is horseshoe shaped with various floor levels. There is the entryway level which is the highest, and the floor level right in front of the stage which is the lowest. In between these two levels are steps and platforms of intermittent heights. The Avalon is also fairly small for a rock and roll show, and this set up allows for a pretty good view of the stage no matter where in the room you are. Naturally, I had my sights set on the main floor level and once the opening act said goodnight, I started squeezing my way down there (they really packed us in there like sardines).
About half way to my destination, I couldn't find a good path so I had to stop on one of those intermittent levels for a bit. I knew it was going to be at least twenty minutes before Evanescence was set up to go, so I was in no particular rush. Unfortunately, the average height of the average female at the show had to be five feet tall or so, and when I paused on that platform waiting to make my next move, I was directly in front of two such girls. I couldn't have been there thirty seconds when they started insulting me. They weren't even addressing me, they were talking to each other really, really loudly to make sure I heard them, which to me, made it even more insulting.
"He better not be stopping here."
"Totally. Look at the size of that guy. You
have a freaking billboard in front of you!"
"If he doesn't leave, I'm so going to let him have
it."
At this point, I turn around and face them, and tell them, don't worry, as soon as a spot opens up, I'm out of here. They don't say anything to my face. I turn back around, resuming my search for an opening, and they go back at it! Going on about my size and how horrible a person I am and the gall I have for standing there! So, I turn back around and reassure them that the show won't start for probably twenty minutes and I'll be long gone. This time they speak up, but instead of "okay then" or even, heavens forefend, "thank you" they reply, "well I HOPE SO!!"
Well, excuse the fuck outta me, alright? I mean, they may as well had been saying stuff like: "What is that guy thinking, being so tall?" "I know. The nerve of some people! They don't know when to not be tall." "Most of us grow to the proper height and then stop, jerk!" Obviously, neither of them had ever been to a general admission show before, because then they'd know that unless you manage to get to the front and cling to the rail for dear life, there is ALWAYS going to someone in front of you, and they won't all be passing by like I was, and you can't always do anything about it. I know I'm tall. That's why my destination was NOT the absolute front front row. No, it was the main floor, stage right, in the back (which added up to about eighth row), this way, the person immediately behind me would be on a step and able to see over my shoulders. Just because it's general admission and I'm tall, shouldn't mean I have to stand against the rear wall! I paid to see the concert like everyone else. I can't help being big, and this is one situation where it actually works to my advantage, so I'm not about to squander it. In fact, if those girls had chosen to be nice to me and butter me up, they could have used me to their advantage. If they had smiled and said, "hey, fella, you're awfully big. Do you think you could get my friend and I up front?" I can't say "no" if a cute goth girl wants a favor. I probably would have. If they had been nice, they could have ridden my coat tails to the front row. But no, they chose to be, oh what's the word I want? Starts with a "B" and rhymes with "witches"? CUNTS. That's it. That's the word for what they were, and I don't just toss that word around, either.
Does this make me a bad person? I don't think so. I help short people with tall-guy type favors all of time. Reach this for me, carry that. Basically, if short people are going to exploit me for my bigness, they shouldn't be allowed to complain about my size just because at a particular time it doesn't suit them. I try to be as considerate as possible and sit in the back at movie theaters and such, but as far as the world in general is concerned, us big and tall guys are never going to hear the end of it.
William (the big bad)
