(no subject)
A letter to Ticketmaster:
Dear Ticketmaster,
Looking over the walls of my room, I see that we have quite a history with each other. Granted, people my age have been dealing with you much more frequently and for a longer period of time, but I still like to think that our exchanges have gone well. Kathy and I used you to see Incubus and The Music in Saint Cloud in the fall of oh-four. You let me go to Warped Tour in 2005. You let me see Weezer and the Foo Fighters later that year, and a Fall Out Boy, Hawthorne Heights, All-American Rejects, From First to Last, and The Hush Sound thing the following spring ( where I met a bizarrely friendly girl named Catherine who spoke maybe three words of English and tried to dance with me during Honorable Mention, which she'd probably never heard before. ) And who can forget the first time we exchanged names? Van Halen in 2004. It was a glorious night for me and thousands of alcoholic Omaha-dwellers with mullets, tour shirts from the eighties, and license playes that said 5150, I must say.
Admittedly, we've had our differences since then. The local scene has been getting to me. Java Joint and Cheap Thrills are cheaper and more accessible -- and maybe that makes you angry. But hey, I never got hit in the face by some scrawny teeny-bopper during Doorstep Paradise -- whereas you let me be assaulted that way during the From First to Last set, when all I wanted to do was survive to get a good shot of Hawthorne Heights with my disposable camera. So perhaps that's where the split started. I didn't use you to get a Flogging Molly ticket, I know, but it was a college show and that couldn't be helped. That one wasn't my fault.
I gave you a chance, though. I tried to see The Spill Canvas and Halifax last September, and what happened? You dropped the ball. You dropped it and it fell real far, mate. I admit, you didn't know that The Quest was going to catch fire, but after it did, you could've told me that the show was moved to the other downtown of the Twin Cities. That would've been nice. But you said it was still at The Quest -- oh, and did I not talk to you already about letting me know when the event time is pushed forward two hours so I can get there on time? Three-fourths of The Spill Canvas' set was excellent for me, which is why I didn't ask you for my money back, but. . .c'mon. Couldn't I have at least caught one song of Halifax?
Tonight, though, you've stopped being funny. You've insulted me, you've insulted my thirteen dollars, and I want to know why. I called the venue for tonight's show -- The Spill Canvas in Fargo; no, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about, because it's on your website and we both know it, you prick -- to ask about the camera policy. That was all I wanted. And I -- no, let me just tell you the conversation I had with the nice woman at the box office. Here it is:
"Hi, I'm calling about the show tonight."
"Pardon?"
"The show tonight."
"Oh, The Spill Canvas?"
"Yeah; I was calling to ask about the camera policy."
"Actually, they had to postpone the show until Tuesday."
". . .Oh."
Casual goodbyes were exchanged, and I went back to you. I checked the page, and it said, indeed, still, that the show is tonight. What is that? You're not even playing with me this time, like when that club caught fire -- maybe you weren't told about that one, so I forgave you. But today, you lied to me. You lied to me twice, as a matter of fact. I went to check on the refund policy ( needless to say, I won't be driving three hours to catch a show on a school night, as per the parentals' orders ) and you told me clearly that I was told when purchasing my ticket that there are no refunds.
That is arrogant and untrue, Ticketmaster. I purchased my ticket from an elderly woman in the shoe section at Macy's. I was never told that there were no refunds -- I was told that my hair was interesting and to drive carefully because the roads were icy that day, but I was never told that there were no refunds. That's very assumptuous of you.
I will be doing what I can to get my thirteen dollars and fifty cents back.
And when I do, I'm going to use it for two or three shows at the Java Joint.
And there's nothing you can do about it, you bastard.
Sincerely,
Lewis.
In other news, I've been very well aside from all that. Most of my time lately has been spent with Melissa, which I'm definitely not complaining about. She's got me in a real good mood lately.
On the agenda soon are such things as starting the fifteen-page research paper required to graduate from this school, casting and directing a play that I wrote, more time with Melissa, and things like that. We've been out of school since Wednesday, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure what day it is.
Take care, you lot.
Cheers.
Dear Ticketmaster,
Looking over the walls of my room, I see that we have quite a history with each other. Granted, people my age have been dealing with you much more frequently and for a longer period of time, but I still like to think that our exchanges have gone well. Kathy and I used you to see Incubus and The Music in Saint Cloud in the fall of oh-four. You let me go to Warped Tour in 2005. You let me see Weezer and the Foo Fighters later that year, and a Fall Out Boy, Hawthorne Heights, All-American Rejects, From First to Last, and The Hush Sound thing the following spring ( where I met a bizarrely friendly girl named Catherine who spoke maybe three words of English and tried to dance with me during Honorable Mention, which she'd probably never heard before. ) And who can forget the first time we exchanged names? Van Halen in 2004. It was a glorious night for me and thousands of alcoholic Omaha-dwellers with mullets, tour shirts from the eighties, and license playes that said 5150, I must say.
Admittedly, we've had our differences since then. The local scene has been getting to me. Java Joint and Cheap Thrills are cheaper and more accessible -- and maybe that makes you angry. But hey, I never got hit in the face by some scrawny teeny-bopper during Doorstep Paradise -- whereas you let me be assaulted that way during the From First to Last set, when all I wanted to do was survive to get a good shot of Hawthorne Heights with my disposable camera. So perhaps that's where the split started. I didn't use you to get a Flogging Molly ticket, I know, but it was a college show and that couldn't be helped. That one wasn't my fault.
I gave you a chance, though. I tried to see The Spill Canvas and Halifax last September, and what happened? You dropped the ball. You dropped it and it fell real far, mate. I admit, you didn't know that The Quest was going to catch fire, but after it did, you could've told me that the show was moved to the other downtown of the Twin Cities. That would've been nice. But you said it was still at The Quest -- oh, and did I not talk to you already about letting me know when the event time is pushed forward two hours so I can get there on time? Three-fourths of The Spill Canvas' set was excellent for me, which is why I didn't ask you for my money back, but. . .c'mon. Couldn't I have at least caught one song of Halifax?
Tonight, though, you've stopped being funny. You've insulted me, you've insulted my thirteen dollars, and I want to know why. I called the venue for tonight's show -- The Spill Canvas in Fargo; no, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about, because it's on your website and we both know it, you prick -- to ask about the camera policy. That was all I wanted. And I -- no, let me just tell you the conversation I had with the nice woman at the box office. Here it is:
"Hi, I'm calling about the show tonight."
"Pardon?"
"The show tonight."
"Oh, The Spill Canvas?"
"Yeah; I was calling to ask about the camera policy."
"Actually, they had to postpone the show until Tuesday."
". . .Oh."
Casual goodbyes were exchanged, and I went back to you. I checked the page, and it said, indeed, still, that the show is tonight. What is that? You're not even playing with me this time, like when that club caught fire -- maybe you weren't told about that one, so I forgave you. But today, you lied to me. You lied to me twice, as a matter of fact. I went to check on the refund policy ( needless to say, I won't be driving three hours to catch a show on a school night, as per the parentals' orders ) and you told me clearly that I was told when purchasing my ticket that there are no refunds.
That is arrogant and untrue, Ticketmaster. I purchased my ticket from an elderly woman in the shoe section at Macy's. I was never told that there were no refunds -- I was told that my hair was interesting and to drive carefully because the roads were icy that day, but I was never told that there were no refunds. That's very assumptuous of you.
I will be doing what I can to get my thirteen dollars and fifty cents back.
And when I do, I'm going to use it for two or three shows at the Java Joint.
And there's nothing you can do about it, you bastard.
Sincerely,
Lewis.
In other news, I've been very well aside from all that. Most of my time lately has been spent with Melissa, which I'm definitely not complaining about. She's got me in a real good mood lately.
On the agenda soon are such things as starting the fifteen-page research paper required to graduate from this school, casting and directing a play that I wrote, more time with Melissa, and things like that. We've been out of school since Wednesday, and to be honest, I'm not quite sure what day it is.
Take care, you lot.
Cheers.