Miserable Concert Security, Jan 2002
By: James Faherty
For most people, the fear of being molested by a rather large, balding, strange bloke in a black jacket is on the way to a gig, rather than inside the actual venue.
... But one honestly has to question what goes on inside a security guard's mind when wrenching a crowd-surfer away from the pulsating pit, as a pro-wrestler would grapple at his worst enemy, albeit with less of the spandex and bronzing oil. Just what gives security guards the right to handle audience members as a frustrated shop-owner would handle a hunk of kebab meat? Does it stem from family problems: maybe his wife didn't cook the severed boar's head she gave him for breakfast properly, so the burly security guard must vent his vehemence on a defenceless gig-goer? Or could it be a result of school elitism - he didn't fulfil his dream of becoming a professional rugby player after being kicked out of the school team, so he treats all the crowd-surfers like rugby balls, tossing them willy-nilly against the railings.
The whole point of going to a gig is to enjoy oneself, and have fun. Sure, the odd bruise or cut is inevitable, especially if one ventures into the sweaty depths of a turbulent mosh-pit. But you don't expect to be hurled violently around by some Neanderthal thug with marital issues (except if you're at a show on the toilet-circuit). These men are getting paid to ensure our safety, not to treat us like an unwanted lavatorial floater, flushing us around the arena until we eventually subside back into the crowd.
... Too many times I have come out of a gig feeling like I've received multiple breeze-blocks to the forehead, not because of an unusually violent surging in the audience, but because the security guards were getting bored and wanted to inflict some damage, so acted like primitive cavemen hunting for food.
Therefore, the next time a security guard is treating you like poo, return the favour by farting on him when he grabs you. Puerile, but rewarding.