If you’ve ever been to the Baby Phat show, you know what kind of a crowd to expect: loud, pushy, entitled. But drunk?

Such was the case last night when the woman seated next to me started spilling her drink (red fruit punch in a Fiji water bottle, can you say ghet-to?)), slurring her words, and accusing me of not being Anahita Moussavian. Because, you know, she’s “Armenian and knows what an Armenian looks like. And you are not!”

*Spills drink, turns her attention to her newly stained pants.*

Now that’s classy.