People are often impressed by my vocal clarity and stamina on stage, despite me being a big guy, and I love that, when folks get surprised by what they see and hear. Those 30 to 45 minutes are the coolest time ever to be a fat guy. The issues usually start once I’m off stage.

The problem is, though not nearly as much as in Asia, American-made establishments don’t always cater to big people. I cringe when someone asks me to sit in a lawn chair, because I’ve had some hilarious moments where those bad boys have crumbled under pressure like James Harden in a playoff series. I’ve been in moments on small planes where I’ve had to encroach on the person next to me, and I’ve been extremely apologetic. This week in Phoenix, I experience an odd combo of bigotry that I’d never seen in my years of traveling.

I bought myself and my wife tickets to see Santana and The Doobie Brothers in Phoenix at AK-Chin Pavillion, a mostly-outdoor venue with lawn standing/sitting room as well as stadium-style seats. We got to the show 20 minutes late, after having to return to our cars because my wife’s purse was too large, and sat down next to two men, both Caucasian and in their 60’s, who were initially in our seats, perfectly man-spreading across four chairs.

When we asked them to move, they got a little perturbed, but we made small talk about the high priced drinks and how much of the Doobie’s set we had missed. Once we got settled, I noticed the gentleman next to me trying hard not to touch my leg with his own. He fidgeted, crossed and uncrossed his legs, and turned to each side to get a comfortable position.

To break the tension, I turned to him to say “Hey man, we’re all here to see a show and relax, I don’t mind if your leg touches mine.” Before I could get a word out, the man cut me off and yelled, spewing beer in my direction.

“They shoulda made you buy two fucking seats! Lean on her (my wife), not me, I don’t want you up against me!”

Shocked, I could only respond, “It’s okay man, it’s cool.” and try to get back to the concert. Things got awkward when I overheard him say that he was disappointed that he had to sit next to “black fatties.”

“Every fucking time I wanna have a good time, here they come,” He lamented under his breath to his mate, while right next to me.

What did I do?

Oh you know what I did. I waited until the Doobie Brothers encore ended, and then did what I’d wanted to from the moment he gave me the first cross look.

I moved.

I found another section to the side, full of empty seats, and then I called my wife and told her to come with me. I don’t have time to ruin a great date night with foolishness. Did he deserve a sock in the mouth? Most likely. But that’s just not me. As I said, I’m the type of guy to get out of the way.

We sat next to a group of Native American couples, and we had the time of our lives. We danced, we laughed, we cried. Santana brought us together. No way I would’ve missed that just to teach a slack-jawed yokel a lesson. Did he think he could shame me into getting into the gym? Or maybe make me angry enough to leave the area, which I did? Regardless, I can think of 20 other ways that could’ve ended.