Don't even look at me. Seriously. I have had it.
Ticketmaster Customer Service, you have done the equivalent of bashing my brains in with a rusty hammer. I can't take it!
Well' it's obvious I'm having a very very bad day. :(
So I waited one afternoon to buy tickets online for Adele (sweet sweet Adele!) at the Tabernacle. While it sold out in 30 minutes, I got through! And thrilled the girlies. We were going to Adele! Very cool. But Adele got sick, and it was postponed.
I recieved an email. Adele has been moved to the Fox Theater! Online Presale Only, use this number (which is my previous order number). Cool, I thought. Sounds easy enough. I'll sit a half hour early, have everything ready, and get Fox tickets. Not cool. :(
It would not let me enter my presale number. So I've called over and over. Finally what it amounts to is this...They see that I had the original tickets, and tell me it shows I have not purchased tickets to the Fox show. But it also shows that someone used my presale number and bought three tickets already, and only one purchase per presale number can be used.
"Who bought those tickets? What address are they going to?"
"We cannot tell you that."
"But you can see I did not buy those tickets! That's my presale number! How can someone that doesn't match my previous order name use my presale number???"
"We can't answer that."
So they say, "Wait by the phone and someone should contact you within the next 24 hours (while the tickets are selling out) to maybe resolve this and perhaps give you a new presale number, but Ticketmaster cannot." I'm screwed. And now I'm just a slobbery mess, my nose running down my shirt and no relief in site. Where are those little finder angels when you need them?
A long time ago I'd read that there were finder angels who helped you, say you lost your keys, you could silently call upon, 'finder angel, I can't find my keys again...' and then of course they'd turn up. Maybe finder angels were only a nice though all along. And if not, really, finder angels, i'd like you to search for whoever typed in random numbers until one worked (mine) and bashed they're brains in with that same rusty hammer. But a real one.
Oh, that's terrible. God help me.
I think I need some pie. Blueberry or blackberry. A la mode. I know food is not a remedy for mental stress, and that's such a crap solution. Honestly, I have a twenty year class reunion coming up. Pie shouldn't even be an option, that last ten pounds seems so damned content. The last thing it needs is pie. But this situation is special.
Sometimes I think of my cousin Jack when I think of angels. I think of car rides with my mom driving the old catalina, the felt hanging low on their heads in front; me laying across the backseat, with my legs dangling out...feet in the wind. I think about laughing back then, because everything was funny. I think about how now when I see feet dangling out a car window it reminds me less of those times, and more of the idea that someone will lose toes to a mailbox or something. I wonder if I googled it if any toe loss from dangling feet would come up. And I wonder if Jack is still funny, wherever he is. I wonder if he hears me when I think my silent conversations up or out to him. I think of Joust on Atari and ramen noodles and silver aviator glasses. I think of cards. Crushing cans in the stairwell.
But Jack is gone. And I'm having a bad day, or I wouldn't even be going back to that.