In which I am too old to rock and roll
Oh my God, I feel like such a get-off-my-lawn cranky old lady. But I have to ask -- when you buy concert tickets, don't you expect a seat?
We battled rush-hour traffic and lined up early to get good spots for last night's Jonathan Coulton concert at the Great American Music Hall. Every other time I've been there, the main floor was set up with tables and chairs. So I was surprised to walk into the venue when it opened at 7:00 and see . . . nothing. Just a huge open space extending all the way to the stage. We looked upstairs, where there were some tables and seating -- all already full or reserved.
I asked the guy at the door what was going on. He said "It's a sold-out show," as if that explained everything. The staff claimed that this is the venue's normal set-up and that it was "on the ticket." (I later checked the fine print on the ticket. It said "General admission -- limited seating," which I wouldn't have interpreted as "no chairs on the main floor," but maybe that's just me.)
I was not the only surprised person in the crowd. Some were delighted -- one guy couldn't understand why everyone wasn't thrilled, because we could get so close to the stage. But one woman had a bad knee; my husband has a bad back and can't stand up for a long time; and for myself, I would at least have liked to know so that I could wear sneakers instead of sandals. Foot injuries aren't my idea of a good time.
If we hadn't carpooled up with our neighbor, I would have walked out. Instead, I seethed, I simmered, and I complained. I talked -- twice -- to a handsome young man in a natty suit who turned out to be the manager. He was polite and pleasant and listened attentively and initially told me he couldn't do anything about it. But eventually he offered to buy me a drink (I said no thanks), and then told me he'd look out for a table for us. After the opening act (which was lousy), he came over and told me he'd found a table for us. He took us upstairs to an unoccupied table in the reserved section, which was really pretty nice, and we got to sit up there for JoCo's whole show. But by then I'd put so much energy into being angry and complaining that it was hard to enjoy it. (I did my best -- JoCo made it easier by rocking so hard that at one point he broke two guitar strings simultaneously.)
Then on the way home, a motorcyclist banged on my window and yelled at me for changing lanes without signaling.
So now I really feel like I just shouldn't go out at night anymore, at least not in San Francisco.
Sanity check: When you buy concert tickets, do you expect there to be seats in the concert hall? And do you think that seatless venues should make an effort to specifically inform their customers that there won't be seats, or should we just suck it up and enjoy the show regardless of any physical discomfort?
--Willowgreen, feeling elderly and incompetent
We battled rush-hour traffic and lined up early to get good spots for last night's Jonathan Coulton concert at the Great American Music Hall. Every other time I've been there, the main floor was set up with tables and chairs. So I was surprised to walk into the venue when it opened at 7:00 and see . . . nothing. Just a huge open space extending all the way to the stage. We looked upstairs, where there were some tables and seating -- all already full or reserved.
I asked the guy at the door what was going on. He said "It's a sold-out show," as if that explained everything. The staff claimed that this is the venue's normal set-up and that it was "on the ticket." (I later checked the fine print on the ticket. It said "General admission -- limited seating," which I wouldn't have interpreted as "no chairs on the main floor," but maybe that's just me.)
I was not the only surprised person in the crowd. Some were delighted -- one guy couldn't understand why everyone wasn't thrilled, because we could get so close to the stage. But one woman had a bad knee; my husband has a bad back and can't stand up for a long time; and for myself, I would at least have liked to know so that I could wear sneakers instead of sandals. Foot injuries aren't my idea of a good time.
If we hadn't carpooled up with our neighbor, I would have walked out. Instead, I seethed, I simmered, and I complained. I talked -- twice -- to a handsome young man in a natty suit who turned out to be the manager. He was polite and pleasant and listened attentively and initially told me he couldn't do anything about it. But eventually he offered to buy me a drink (I said no thanks), and then told me he'd look out for a table for us. After the opening act (which was lousy), he came over and told me he'd found a table for us. He took us upstairs to an unoccupied table in the reserved section, which was really pretty nice, and we got to sit up there for JoCo's whole show. But by then I'd put so much energy into being angry and complaining that it was hard to enjoy it. (I did my best -- JoCo made it easier by rocking so hard that at one point he broke two guitar strings simultaneously.)
Then on the way home, a motorcyclist banged on my window and yelled at me for changing lanes without signaling.
So now I really feel like I just shouldn't go out at night anymore, at least not in San Francisco.
Sanity check: When you buy concert tickets, do you expect there to be seats in the concert hall? And do you think that seatless venues should make an effort to specifically inform their customers that there won't be seats, or should we just suck it up and enjoy the show regardless of any physical discomfort?
--Willowgreen, feeling elderly and incompetent