Adventures in ticket buying

So I went to the local Ticketmaster outlet to buy two tickets for the Robert Pollard concert March 31 at The Metro in Chicago. The transaction was successful and totally awkward, as usual.

When I said I wanted tickets to see Robert Pollard in Chicago, the guy gave me a confused look that said, "That's not Kenny Chesney!" Who? Robert Pollard. P-O-L-L-A-R-D. The man shook his head and walked to the computer, still not convinced that I didn't mean to say Kenny Chesney. That's OK, I'm used to it. The Ticketmaster people never know what the hell I'm talking about when I try to buy tickets. I guess they don't speak indie rock.

"That will be $52.68," the guy said.

"What? The tickets are only supposed to cost $19 a piece. "

"There's a $7 convenience charge."

"Well, I hope you respect me in the morning."

I didn't really say that.

Then the guy recognized me. He thought I would be shorter in person. This is the single most common thing people say to me when I'm recognized. One person said she thought I would be shorter and have a higher pitched voice. This does not bode well for my literary persona.

P.S. When the final two Guided by Voices shows ever went on sale, I went to the local outlet (same one) right when it opened on the off-chance I'd be able to get some tickets. I get there and there's a huge line out front. I think, "Wow, GBV has a bigger local following than I thought." I ask the middle-aged lady in the back of the line why so many people are there. "For the Alan Jackson concert!" Like, duh. By the time I got to the front of the line and spelled GBV (G-B-V) about 12 times, the tickets were gone. This, in a nutshell, is my life.