VICTORY!!!!!

YES!!!!!! I GOT TICKETS!! WHOOOOOO!!!

It took a monumental effort. And by "monumental effort" I mean "getting up fifteen minutes early, running ass-over-teakettle downtown, and standing around in the cold." My coworker, K, and I decided to wait in line at the Copley Square ticket booth to get some tickets. I arrived at the appointed time to find no one waiting in line. It turns out Ticketmaster has this new system with a random number lottery where everyone waiting in line is given a number, a number is drawn and the line starts at that person and after. So even if you showed up first, you could potentially be last in line. We stopped to grab a coffee and went back to the ticket booth to find a small line forming. As we stood watching huge sheets of ice slide off the roof of the library onto the sidewalk, a longer line formed. Two women, possibly mother and daughter, bitched at the front of the line to swerve along the sidewalk because they were too close to the street.

"Do you work here?" Someone asked them. They shrieked back they did not. K and I rolled our eyes.

At about 9:30, the booth workers emerged with a roll of raffle tickets and they explained the system. The two bitching women started complaining again.

"So you're saying that you could be first in line but not get tickets? That hardly seems fair," they clucked.

"Ticketmaster makes us do it now," the ticket guy explained, clearly frustrated with the whole debacle, "I think it's to keep people from camping out." Which was evident after ten milliseconds of thinking about it, which neither of these harpies took the time to do.

"You watch," K said to me, "they'll be first in line."

Of course, once everyone in line had a ticket, the younger bitching woman got to be first in line and her bitching friend was second. "I'M GOING TO SEE THE POLICE!!" She hollered.

After the rest of us jockeyed into position, the booth opened and bitching woman got to buy her tickets. K and I were maybe eight people from the front of the line, but we felt miles away. We power-dialed Ticketmaster, but Verizon's circuits were too busy to handle the call. Bitching women finished. Some old Irish guys bought their tickets. So did a guy on a bike. A gay guy and his friend, who had been bragging about already having tickets from the presale, got to the counter.

"I want six of the best available seats for Sunday," he said. The guy presented him with an option. Gay Guy consulted with his friend. I rolled my eyes, knowing that if I got that close and didn't get tickets because they were discussing the best view of the stage I was going to kill one of them with my teeth. He bought his tickets, got out of the way, and his friend proceeded to discuss the finer points of the seating plan with him while time passed too quickly.

"Come the fuck on," I said out loud, "you've already got tickets. Move!"

It was my turn. I was giddy with excitement. I placed my order for six tickets (to sell to coworkers and friends who'd offered to buy me tickets should they have luck and I did not). I got them in pairs all around the park, which was fine. I paid my $595 (ouch) for the six tickets and walked away stunned. K got two tickets and ended up with really great seats for her and her husband. Like dorks, we fist-bumped and slam-danced into each other in celebration. I didn't get my birthday show, but that's okay. I can pretend I'm a July 29th baby for one year.

I've got to donate to a church, because my prayers have been answered. Thank you Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, whomever pulled those strings for me. I greatly appreciate it.