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| A ticket holder at Green Man having a kip in the shit |
Notwithstanding this, and for reasons irrelevant to this story, I bought a ticket to the Green Man Festival this year, in part because I wanted to see Jonathan Richman. He's lovely. I love him.
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| Jonathan Richman at Green Man with his drummer, Tommy |
I made sure I got to the venue early - 30 minutes early. I placed myself close to the stage, my Wellingtons vacuum-packed into 10 inches of mud, and waited. Five minutes before the show a family arrived beside me, having pushed their way through the now considerable crowd. The father told his two children, early teens, to wriggle in front of me, while he stood so close to me, I was obliged to budge backwards.
Except I didn't, because I was infuriated. Infuriated beyond all proportion and beyond all sense. I was infuriated because I'd been waiting in the mud, and now my view was obscured (one of the kids was taller than me) and I was squashed up against pushers-in. I was infuriated because I'd been standing close to a spectacularly dressed transvestite whose aura I was enjoying, and this interloper was now between us. I was infuriated because I don't much like festivals anyway, and this guy had just reminded me of another reason why.
Now, I've been doing dispute resolution in various contexts for years, so I should have had the means, the vocabulary, the insight and the confidence to move this situation on, but I didn't. Whether it was the crowd around us or the trauma of the mud, or plain unadulterated fear, all my professional training abandoned me and the only exchange I could imagine having was this one:
Me: "Get out of my face you impertinent wanker"
Him: "Who the hell do you think you are, you ignorant stuck-up twat" -
which might be an appropriate way to kick off a Sex Pistols gig, but isn't really in keeping with how Jonathan Richman would like his audience to behave - I mean - look at him...
I didn't say anything, and instead I decided to make this man's life a misery by standing my ground, not budging an inch, which I knew would have all the more impact due to the substantial backpack over my shoulder and the folding chair that had poles poking out of its ripped bag. See how he likes that, I thought.
He nudged and budged me the whole way through the session. I pretended not to mind, or even notice, occasionally barging back in his direction, awkward jutting movements disguised as a bit of a boogie. Jonathan Richman gig - can't remember much about it?
I've just completed a two day course at the Centre for Peaceful Solutions, run by Maria Arpa who took us through her Dialogue Road Map. It's based on Marshall Rosenberg's Nonviolent Communication model which I've been aware of for years, but there's nothing like these skills coming back to you in a slightly different form, through a different mouthpiece. I've reflected on that moment in the Far Out Tent (sic).
This is what I might have said, with the benefit of what I've learned this week:
Me: "I'm guessing that you are pretty excited to see this gig, and you really want your children to have a good view."
Him: (probably a bit taken aback) "Yep, I am"
Me: "And perhaps you're concerned for your kids' safety and want to stay close by them?"
Him: "Yes, of course I have to keep an eye on them - is there a problem here?"
Me: "Well, I really want to enjoy this concert too, and I'm feeling pretty frustrated right now that you've moved your kids in front of me."
Him: "Hummph, well, there's no such thing as a reserved place."
Me: "I'm hearing that you don't think people should be able to hold onto a place."
Him: "Not exactly, I mean, up to a point."
Me: "I'm feeling irritated, and quite tired, because I've been waiting here for half an hour and now you've arrived, just five minutes before the gig, and I can't see the stage as well as I could before."
Him: "It's never going to be the Albert Hall. Get over it."
Me: "Now what I'm hearing is that you think I should just put up with it. It's uncomfortable for everyone."
Him: "Yep."
Me: "I was feeling comfortable before, and now I'm not. Now I feel squashed and uncomfortable because four new people are squeezing in where there isn't room. There isn't room unless I move back, which is what I'm guessing you want me to do because you are nudging me that way."
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| Getting a very good view of somebody's shirt |
Me: "What I'm hearing now is that it's really important that your children can see well, and that you all enjoy yourselves."
Him: "Doh."
Me: "I'm happy that your children should be able to see well, and it's also important for me that I can see well."
Him: "If it's that much of a hassle for you ..."
Me: "I'm sure we can sort this out (and hopefully before Jonathan Richman comes on). How about you and your partner stand behind us, and your children stay where they are, in front?"
Him: "That's not going to work. I can't talk to them if you are between us and the kids."
Me: "So it's important for you to communicate with the kids during the gig?"
Him: "Up to a point."
Me: "I don't mind that, but if it means I have to stand back to make way for you, after I've been waiting here all this time, then I do mind. Do you have any suggestions?"
Him: "I think there might be more space over there - we'll move along?"
Me: "Great, that'd suit me well."
Him: "Second thoughts, leave them where they are. They won't want to talk to me."
Me: "Ok, great, you can get in behind us then - not sure what the people behind you will think but that's their issue."
Him: Could you do something about your backpack, it's right in my face?"
Me: "Sure. What did you have in mind?"
I don't pretend that this is perfect (or even a particularly good) way to handle this conversation - the dialogue is fairly new to me and I know it improves with practice and experience - and Maria, if you read this, any feedback or criticism would be most welcome. If this interests you I suggest you look at this website: http://www.centreforpeacefulsolutions.org/ and read this book.
