Again. This is why I'm single. Only I could have 3 men hitting on me in one night, one whom I really liked and still go home alone. I did make it to the last Morrissey concert. I got in to see the second half after I blew all my cash on a fake ticket, then waited around for one of the scalpers to cave and sell their tickets cheap. No such luck. They all sold out. It was a game of chicken, the scalpers vs. the broke and scammed fans. They won. The last pair of tickets went to a couple who paid $100 each after Morrissey had already started. So how did I get in ...
When I tried to use my expensive fake ticket, I was politely escorted out the door with a few other dazed and taken fans. I decided to hang around outside just in case. Another girl and I chatted with an older scalper who had real tickets. Then this little blond mozboy wandered over looking bereft. We compared our phony tickets and discussed what losers we were. Only Morrissey fans could bond over their own foolishness. The nice gentleman scalper said he'd sell us whatever he had leftover for cheap. So he and I waited together.
Mozboy was a shy one, wearing glasses, a blue plaid coat, t-shirt, jeans and black shoes. He also had the Moz pompadour going on. Despite his look, or because of it, he was cute. When I decided to go to the ATM I asked him to tell our dealer, if he came over, that I'd be right back. The boy asked me if I had to go far because he could lay out the cash for me if it was too far. WHAT? Was he for real? I think my jaw hit the sidewalk and I said, "It's just over there. I'll be right back. Thank you."
When I returned, we were officially a ticket couple. People kept trying to sell us pairs. Our dealer disappeared around 9 pm. So we wandered over to the rest of the pitiful ticketless group. A drunk Englishman was shouting that he couldn't believe Americans steal from each other like this! He got a bad ticket too so he asked me for a sympathy hug.
While we were milling abuot, the FDNY came to inspect the theater for over-crowding. After they left, the manager pointed to me and boy (instead of the 10 other people) and said, "You two can buy standing room tickets. You've been out here a long time." What? No way! The others got angry and said they had waited a long time too. The man said "I've seen these two out here." We probably stood out as a bespectacled helpless looking couple. They said they'd sell us two bogus tickets for $47 each. No way--I only had 40 and they needed ID for plastic. I asked the boy if he could spot me some cash. He said, "Sure, how much do you need?" What a sweetheart. So I waited for him while his card went through.
Then we rushed inside. The usher said "What? Standing room, we don't have that." The manager told him to let us in. Mozboy found us a good place in the orchestra about 15 rows back. We stood together behind some big drunk frat-boy wall street types. They kept going to the bar so I took one guy's place. When he came back I asked him if he wanted his spot back. He said no, put his arm around me and told me "I think you're beautiful. Are you here with someone?" Then he kissed the side of my head and added, "We'll kiss after the show." Like the true gentleman he was, he offered me some of his drink. Ewwww. He kept touching me throughout the concert, taking my hand and kissing it or squeezing my arm. I never know what to do in those situations, my southern comes out and I just try to be polite. I guess if my new boyfriend wasn't a sissy mozboy he would've stood up for me. I really didn't care too much because Morrissey was awesome again. He's a drug. The more you get, the more you want.
After the show we walked out together. I asked him if he was meeting people. He said yes. I wanted to get his number when we got outside but his two friends were already there. Damn it. I got flustered. I thanked him for the money. He said it was nice to meet you and we shook hands and exchanged names. After an awkward moment with his friends staring, I said, "I guess I'll go home now." He said Ok. He was supposed to say something else. Whatever, so I started walking away cursing, then he said, "Will you be ok getting home?" This question always peeves me, I find it insulting--I automatically just said "Yes" and kept going.
Damn it. That was his play, it was weak and sorry, but I blew it. All I had to say was, "Let me pay you back sometime, what's your number?" I wanted to, I just didn't. Or, I could have said "I'm walking home, why?" Why is it so hard to say the right thing at the right time? Why does my mind go completely blank? I've been dating for 12 years!! I knew what to say. But no. I'm retarded and I'm going to die alone.
What a fitting end to my Morrissey week. I was conned, fell in love, shown charity by the Apollo, molested, and lost my love all in one night. The only thing left to say:
"Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. No hope, no harm, just another false alarm."
Come back for more TRUE stories of the strange, sad and pathetically hilarious exploits of me not having sex in the city.
