Well, tonight was the first night I got ejected from an event on which I was writing a story.
I had just gotten back (late–surprise!) from a slackline session with this woman, Adi Carter, who has some pretty fabulous yoga slacking moves, as well as her friend Reg and fun ole Brandi :).
I rushed to take a shower, threw on my new and fabulous pencil skirt, rushed to dry the front of my hair, threw on make up, put on my (mini) heels and rushed down the street.
When I arrived, I sensed trouble right away. The women at the table selling tickets were looking at me a little oddly when I asked to see the program director. When he came around, I said something to the effect of “Let’s get crackin’ with the questions!” (It was nothing like that, don’t worry.)
To which he responded, do you have your ticket?
Now, to a normal person, that seems reasonable, but as some background, the last event/fundraiser I went to, I was not, in any way, shape or form asked to pay. The one before that, I did pay, to which my editor told me, “As a member of the press, you shouldn’t have to worry about paying.” In fact, most of the events I go to (some of which are paid events) the event planner is usually so stoked a newspaper is covering it that no one ever mentions money or tickets.
Which is why I didn’t call and didn’t worry whatsoever about the idea of tickets, bracelets, or payment.
But Mr. Program Manager (very nicely) told me I’d have to pay $75 for my general admission ticket. With a kind of apologetic, kind of we-think-you’re-lying smile, I was wondering if maybe he was just misinformed.
So, I asked to talk to a superior. To which I was told they would say the same thing.
So I called my editor, who sounded a bit shocked at the fact they weren’t letting me in and who told me that if that was the case, I should probably head home and enjoy the rest of my night.
Unfortunately, I wore Brandi out at slacklining and Mr. Med is in what we now call “neuro mode” (named for the horrible Neurobiology class that took over his life for 8 weeks over Christmas) studying for his test next Friday. Hence, no one to really hang out with.
So I sit, heels kicked off, pencil skirt and tucked-in white, see-through. polka dot blouse all rumpled and black cotton jacket slipping off my shoulder with no prospects except drinking beer, watching tv, and/or reading a bookn for the rest of the night. Not too shabby!
Cheers!
