The End Of An Era
If you don't already know, The Merc box office has a new ticketing system. I almost didn't get the ticket because the show is next week and it's more of a curiosity thing and it's $13. But it's the Bowery Ballroom and the main thing is that I was gonna end up with some embarrassingly high ticket number. Who the hell buys a ticket the week before a show? Well, people do but not me. So I headed down there, feeling all battered from Pretty Girls Make Graves the previous nite, Monday. When I got there yesterday, there was a guy sitting at a table on my left and a laptop sitting on the bar. I did a doubletake, unsure who was selling the tix because I didn't see the accordian folder. And I was on my lunch break.
The girl proudly showed off the laptop and ticket printer, the same setup that the Knit now has and what used to be on display at the Village Underground/Warsaw box office. So I go to buy the ticket, doublechecking that So-and-So has been added to the bill.
"I haven't heard anything about that. In fact, you're the 1st one who mentioned it."
"Well, I checked the listing on Ticketweb before I came down here. That's how I found out."
I pay for the ticket and she processes the order. But the ticket doesn't print. She jiggles wires, checks connections. There's a ticket visible in the slot. I point this out, but she says that's always there. A card is taped to the top of the printer that says Ticketweb--A division of Ticketmaster. She tries again. Reboots the computer. No ticket. She IMs customer service. She's Boweryintern. I want to tell her that I'm on my lunch break and have to get back to work. No ticket. I check my watch. I want to leave her my credit card and come back later. We make smalltalk about the accordian folder way of doing things. I think about all the times I raced down to the Merc for tix, my heart and mind racing, my stomach a mess, and say, "I need a ticket for The Donnas, They Might Be Giants, The Breeders, White Stripes, Mooney Suzuki, Flogging Molly, Satanicide, Distillers, whatever" and they'd look thru the accordian folder and say, "I don't have those. Maybe it's sold out" and then I'd panic and tell them when the show was and which venue. Maybe they did that on purpose to fuck with my head. Then they'd realize the tix just went onsale and the envelope is still on the bar. Or they call upstairs and someone brings 'em down. Still no ticket. The girl apologizes and tells me that this doesn't usually happen. When they get the permanent setup it should be much quicker.
Boweryintern calls upstairs and another girl comes down. She fiddles with the wire. There's still a ticket in there, looking like it's going to pop out. Test prints litter the area surrounding the printer. I wish they'd give me the test print, but I'm sure they won't. The other girl is singing along to KROCK, what sounds like Weezer but what the fuck do I know, and for the first time in the half hour that I'm there I notice that they've got their station on, not the Latino station that the barback always listens to. A woman behind the bar who I've never seen before steps out and opens the safe under the ATM. "Who's that guy?" she asks in a stage whisper. "A worker," the girl replies. "No, the other guy." She explains that he's with the Lovemakers and waiting for the bus.
Finally, a ticket. But there's no number on it. Whenever I used to brag that I got the first ticket, everyone would always say that they pulled 'em out of the pile randomly and the numbers mean nothing. God, I was such a little ticketsnob. A numberwhore. I mean, in a way it doesn't matter since I'm buying the ticket a week before the show. So I'm spared a high number. But I was expecting it. And of course I get to the subway to see the F pull out. Eventually a V shows up and I get on, knowing full well that it ain't leaving til the next F comes and goes. I sit under the Green Day ad for Tower giftcards. Someone drew a face on the blank space where Billie Joe's face should be and a blurb that said I'm queer. Uh, no, the Queers are still on Lookout! Records, not ads for Tower Records. Back at 23rd Street I pass a Read It & Vote ad. Another rigged election is the graff on that one. To which someone else writes, No, just bad candidates. I creep up 6th Ave., still feeling battered from PGMG the night before. Man, I was ridiculously late. Luckily that day I had the time to spare to wait around for the ticket and snuck back to my desk. It's not every week that that's the case. So I hope they figure the system out--or else shows could sell out onlie while they try to sell a ticket in person.
So the Satanicide ticket is my last ticket #1. I don't think I mentioned the number in my previous post. Probably because it's not a surprise anymore.
The girl proudly showed off the laptop and ticket printer, the same setup that the Knit now has and what used to be on display at the Village Underground/Warsaw box office. So I go to buy the ticket, doublechecking that So-and-So has been added to the bill.
"I haven't heard anything about that. In fact, you're the 1st one who mentioned it."
"Well, I checked the listing on Ticketweb before I came down here. That's how I found out."
I pay for the ticket and she processes the order. But the ticket doesn't print. She jiggles wires, checks connections. There's a ticket visible in the slot. I point this out, but she says that's always there. A card is taped to the top of the printer that says Ticketweb--A division of Ticketmaster. She tries again. Reboots the computer. No ticket. She IMs customer service. She's Boweryintern. I want to tell her that I'm on my lunch break and have to get back to work. No ticket. I check my watch. I want to leave her my credit card and come back later. We make smalltalk about the accordian folder way of doing things. I think about all the times I raced down to the Merc for tix, my heart and mind racing, my stomach a mess, and say, "I need a ticket for The Donnas, They Might Be Giants, The Breeders, White Stripes, Mooney Suzuki, Flogging Molly, Satanicide, Distillers, whatever" and they'd look thru the accordian folder and say, "I don't have those. Maybe it's sold out" and then I'd panic and tell them when the show was and which venue. Maybe they did that on purpose to fuck with my head. Then they'd realize the tix just went onsale and the envelope is still on the bar. Or they call upstairs and someone brings 'em down. Still no ticket. The girl apologizes and tells me that this doesn't usually happen. When they get the permanent setup it should be much quicker.
Boweryintern calls upstairs and another girl comes down. She fiddles with the wire. There's still a ticket in there, looking like it's going to pop out. Test prints litter the area surrounding the printer. I wish they'd give me the test print, but I'm sure they won't. The other girl is singing along to KROCK, what sounds like Weezer but what the fuck do I know, and for the first time in the half hour that I'm there I notice that they've got their station on, not the Latino station that the barback always listens to. A woman behind the bar who I've never seen before steps out and opens the safe under the ATM. "Who's that guy?" she asks in a stage whisper. "A worker," the girl replies. "No, the other guy." She explains that he's with the Lovemakers and waiting for the bus.
Finally, a ticket. But there's no number on it. Whenever I used to brag that I got the first ticket, everyone would always say that they pulled 'em out of the pile randomly and the numbers mean nothing. God, I was such a little ticketsnob. A numberwhore. I mean, in a way it doesn't matter since I'm buying the ticket a week before the show. So I'm spared a high number. But I was expecting it. And of course I get to the subway to see the F pull out. Eventually a V shows up and I get on, knowing full well that it ain't leaving til the next F comes and goes. I sit under the Green Day ad for Tower giftcards. Someone drew a face on the blank space where Billie Joe's face should be and a blurb that said I'm queer. Uh, no, the Queers are still on Lookout! Records, not ads for Tower Records. Back at 23rd Street I pass a Read It & Vote ad. Another rigged election is the graff on that one. To which someone else writes, No, just bad candidates. I creep up 6th Ave., still feeling battered from PGMG the night before. Man, I was ridiculously late. Luckily that day I had the time to spare to wait around for the ticket and snuck back to my desk. It's not every week that that's the case. So I hope they figure the system out--or else shows could sell out onlie while they try to sell a ticket in person.
So the Satanicide ticket is my last ticket #1. I don't think I mentioned the number in my previous post. Probably because it's not a surprise anymore.
posted by heather @ 12:05 PM
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