It's not totally her fault. I went downtown to catch a concert by a group for the second time, which I usually never do, but it was the weekend and my parents aren't here to judge me, so I went. The tickets were $15, and I thought that was reasonable. But when I went up to the box office, I had to pay $17. What the fuck?
Later in the concert I remembered that when I had to buy wrestling tickets for my friend and I, they also tacked on a service fee. But I thought that was because I bought them at the restaurant next door. I just checked the FAQ, and it points out that there are service fees only if you buy them at that restaurant. So I thought buying them in person would save me that service fee. Guess not.
See, this is why I buy tickets from scalpers. Once you agree on a price, that's the price. Meanwhile I've been told that $15 is, in fact, not $15. I'm not used to that, and I don't want to ever get used to that.
But what really incensed me is the girl who I gave my hard-earned money too. I couldn't help but roll my eyes and whine a bit. Do you know what she said? "There's nothing I can do about it." Well, no fucking shit there's nothing you can do about it! It's a service fee, and she didn't look like someone who had the power to override the charge by swiping her supervisor card. Whenever I hear something like that, that person is doing a very lame job of explaining the situation while doing his (or in this case her) best to abdicate responsibility for it. Responsibility I didn't assign to her when I, in frustration, snapped back at her nothing excuse, "I didn't say that you could do anything about it!"
Our "conversation" went straight down into the volcano pit from there. I sure as hell didn't want to speak to her more than I absolutely had to, and I'm sure she felt the same way. Yet she said something to me that I could not hear at all, even though I was standing less than a foot from her, because the opening act was playing. (Good music, BTW, it just doesn't facilitate talking at a normal level.) I thought she was just muttering something to the effect of, "Thank you" (even though she obviously wouldn't mean it), but she nonchalantly showed me her wrist, meaning that she needed to stamp my wrist and give me my ticket. From looking at her and remembering that she refused to raise her voice at all so I could hear her, I know that she thought I was stupid. To which I reply, Bitch, you want to be understood, speak up. This is a rock club. You know, with loud music. Loud enough to drown out voices. Like yours.
And oh, by the way, having pink streaks in your hair doesn't make you edgy. I can tell you live in fucking Burnsville with your parents, so stop acting like you're some damn rocker chick, you poseur.
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