Tori Can Kiss My Amos...

I went to a Tori Amos concert last night with Comrade Jersey Girl. CJG is heading back to her old stomping grounds in the Garden State, and we decided to get together for the concert to send her off properly. Only, it didn't really work out that way; the proper part, at least.

We arrived at the Paramount right on time. Go us! Finding our way through Denver, detours and all. We head to the doors in search of seats H10 and H11. Seat Finder Lady with the handy flashlight schleps us up to the 8th row, (H = 8th letter of the alphabet). We sit through the opening act, sipping on our $6.00 beers.

The lights dim. First act's over. Time for Tori.

As the stage folks are setting up, Seat Finder Lady approaches us with a couple standing next to her. She asks to see our tickets. We show them to her. She says, "Oh, you're in seats 10 and 11. These are seats 1 and 2."

CJG: "Oh, no biggie, we just thought since you pointed to these seats when we came in, this is where we were supposed to sit. We'll just move down."

Me: (looking down the row) "Ummm, there aren't any more seats at the end. There's a big camera there."

Seat Finder Lady: "Yeeeeah. Well, Tori wanted a camera there, so we have some other great seats for you."

Us: "Oooooooh, okay."

Then, smooth talking Guy Smiley Guy sidles up to us and shuffles us to our "really great" new seats. Right in the middle! Of fucking row S (you do the math).

Long story short, we paid more money for seats in the front, and were ousted so Tori's fancy cameras could replace our asses. We got no compensation. No free beer. No refund. Just the run around.

I haven't been to a concert since, hmmm, the Grateful Dead, and I can barely remember that. Heh. The amount of time having passed not being the only reason, but I digress.

I will never pay to go to a fucking concert again.

Perhaps if my ass was minty fresh, I'd have been worthy of a seat in Row H. Damn.