Too Much K.W.Jeter 22 October 1999

3:18 PM: About eleven years ago, or maybe it was June, a band named Echo & The Bunnymen arranged to play in San Francisco. And an unknown, solitary figure obtained a ticket to this concert, as he had recently come to the conclusion that, though he had never thought of himself as a Bunnymen fan, he liked every single one of their songs that he had ever heard. That all of this thought was going into forming an opinion about a band from the early 80s, and now basically following in the footsteps of the 1704 different "original" Temptations, Sha Na Na, and the Three Tenors, just made it that much more typical of his rapidly declining years.

But then, misfortune struck. Pow! The show was canceled. No! It was only postponed. Then again. And again. Time went by, and the dust and trash accumulated in the figure's apartment like garbage on a landfill (very much like, in fact). Any concert ticket that might have at one time been out in plain sight - on a bookcase shelf, or under the box of Kleenex® - would be on its way to fossil fuel status by now.

And without a ticket, all the questions about the Bunnymen were moot. The concert itself was moot. For he would not be there, and thus, it would just become yet another one of all those wonderful things that other people do because they have some tiny sense of how to conduct themselves as human beings.

Meanwhile, back in the 20th Century, it's October 22, a night of no special fame of which I am aware. The now-legendary Echo & The Bunnymen concert is tonight. I play a hunch. How did I buy the ticket? When did I buy it? Maybe that will give me a clue.

I search my email backlog. Years of passive hoarding sometimes pay off. A confirmation message surfaces. It mentions a ticket that will "be waiting for you at the box office."

Will-call? All along? The ticket that hid in plain nonexistence? The Imaginary Purloined Letter? I couldn't find it because I'd never gotten it, and just hallucinated the entire concept?

It rang true. Only one snag. This company didn't sell tickets for that concert hall anymore. Were we cast aside in the divorce? Who would bother to keep track of 4-month-old will-call orders from your ex-ticket-agency? It'd be like balancing your ex-wife's checkbook for her. Oh wait.

I sent them a note. I bought this ticket. Does it still exist? They answered. I had forgotten to mention some crucial information. Like my name. Oops. Fortunately, this ticket gal was smart. She did a search on the email address. It turned up my order. The ticket would be there.

So I'm going out tonight. Who knew? Who cares? Who's askin'?

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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