I didn't want to be that kind of person - the driver who won't let a car trying to jump traffic lines in front of them, the person in the grocery store express line who counts the items in the cart of the person in front of them to make sure they are not exceeding the 12-item limit. Or, worst of all, the person at a music concert who elbows other people trying to worm their way up to the stage.

So about an hour into the Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings concert at the Black Cat in Washington D.C., when a girl in her 20s and her boyfriend elbowed their way to the stage, I turned sideways to give them more room. I must confess. It should be noted that before I turned sideways, I looked at my older sister Julie in outrage. After all, we had been here more than an hour before anyone else to get this spot front and center. I got here first and if droplets of perspiration were to fall from Sharon Jones, I wanted to be able to catch them in my beer cup.

"You don't want to be that kind of person," Julie said, instantly understanding my look the way older sisters can.

She was right. I didn't. So I turned sideways to give the couple more room.

But then, in what I viewed as a complete insult to Ms. Jones's fine singing, the young girl and her boyfriend proceeded to make out. Again, let me be more succinct, they started tonguing each other. At several points, the girl turned her back completely to the stage.

I couldn't help myself. I turned sideways and elbowed. In return, the girl threw her arms around her boyfriend's neck and managed to elbow me back at the same time. It was a really impressive move.

After several minutes of third-grade behavior on my part, she turned to me and said "I'm sorry. I just have to get on stage with Sharon Jones."

I should take a minute to explain. Since Ms. Jones took the stage, on just about every other song, Ms. Jones would point to a member of the audience to come up and dance with her. And I had agreed with her choices so far. The guy with dreadlocks. The fan with the funky white glasses and the guy in the Clinton mask.

She was, of course, saving me for her big finale during her encore.

So when the girl who elbowed her way to the stage told me she wanted to, no HAD TO, dance on stage with Sharon Jones, I understood. Maybe she was more of a fan than I had given her credit for. After all, I had made out with boyfriends at plenty of Steve Miller concerts. It doesn't mean I didn't fully appreciate the musical genius of The Joker.

I smiled, turning sideways again.
"Your right," I said. "It would be way cool to dance with Sharon Jones on stage."

She gave me a look. A GIRL YOU AIN'T GOT IT look. And for the next five or so songs, every time Sharon Jones would scan the crowd, looking to bring someone on stage, this girl's boyfriend would lift her into the air. But despite a significant vertical advantage, the girl was not picked. She left during Sharon Jones' first encore.

For the final song of the evening, Sharon Jones picked one of about a half dozen fans to come up on stage and dance with her. I was one of them.

"And there were like 500 people," I would say after in describing the number of people in the crowd. My sister, Julie, would like to point out that every time I tell this story, the size of the crowd grows by 100. Regardless, it was one of the best nights of my concert-going career.