Last night, I went to The Wherehouse to purchase tickets to tonight’s show. This is always a fun experience. First I tell her that I need to purchase tickets via Ticketmaster. She nods her head, talks to her co-worker some more about a homeless guy she met at the local park, then sashays her way over to the counter. Lovely.
Then I tell her I need “tickets to Bratmobile at the Roxy tomorrow night.” She looks at me blankly for a while in a state of total confusion. I could hear the gears in her squeak as she was trying to think whether she had heard of the band before and could utter something cool. Instead, she merely types it into the computer. She then mutters, “The Locust,” in a tone that suggests that she has heard of the band before. “Oh, they’re this great band from San Diego,” I reply to try and get her into some sort of conversation. “Imagine the greatest songs in the world condensed to 45 seconds.”
“Mmm hmm,” was the only thing she could muster. “They’re going to be there as well.”
This is exactly why I like going to shows where you just pay a cover at the door. There’s no need to go to some third party to obtain entrance rights. I don’t know. Maybe I have no patience anymore. Mmm hmm.