I’m normally pretty smart.
I mean, I went to Harvard…all right, Columbia.
But when trying to buy advance tickets to The Master the other day–because I’d missed the premiere due to Fashion Week–I came off like a ’70s sitcom character on unspeakable amounts of crack.
At the theater’s ticket machine, I studiously checked out the available times for the next night.
I contacted a few friends about the possibility of going, realized I needed two tickets, and checked the machine again.
But the 7:30 PM showing was suddenly gone, obviously sold out!
So I got two tickets for the 9:05 and rode uptown.
All’s well, right? Nope. I later realized I had only taken one ticket and the receipt!
I went way back down to the theater, where they couldn’t find the other ticket, but nicely issued me another one on trust.
Later, uptown, I realized they’d issued it for the wrong night!
I dragged my ass way back down there again and got a corrected ticket.
At this point, I was on the verge of complete emotional collapse, but felt I’d finally gotten it together.
That is, until I looked at the cashier’s sign that said “35 millimeter version shows at 9:05”!
That’s what I’d gotten the tix for!
The 7:30 hadn’t been sold out at all–it’s just that that was one of the 70 millimeter showings, whereas the second time I’d clicked on the movie, I hit “The Master, 35 mm” without realizing it.
Paul Thomas Anderson would kill me if he found out!
Still, I couldn’t possibly ask for yet another transaction–this was getting humiliating–so I decided to stick with the 9:05 and just deal with it.
The next day, I prepared to go, worn out but optimistic.
Looking through my bag for the tickets, I saw not only the original one and the replacement one, but the one I’d lost!
It was in there the whole time!!!
I ripped up the extra one (scalping it didn’t seem like the right thing to do–besides, it would lead to overcrowding) and went to the movies with my friend, blaming the whole mess on the horrors of Scientology.