28043877
I know it’s so ’70s, but I have always dug Carole King. Is there a better pop album than “Tapestry?”
Carole in her jeans and bare feet, her long hair in a perm, staring wistfully at me with her cat from the album cover, the songs being the soundtrack of that decade. And she is finally returning to the concert scene with James Taylor at the Wachovia Center in June. So, when it was announced tickets were going on sale at 10 a.m. on a recent Saturday, I was all revved up. I counted down the hours and minutes.
On the appointed day, I arose and had a quick breakfast of orange juice and vanilla granola. I thought the granola was especially appropriate as Carole’s songs danced in my head in anticipation of ordering tickets. Being a man of the 21st Century, I was ready to order online. I brushed my teeth and shaved. Got to look presentable for the special occasion, even though I was alone in our back-room office, stationed at the computer.
The clock struck 10 and I was already humming “You’ve Got A Friend” as I clicked on the Live Nation Web site. Disappointment. Apparently, my clock was slow because other fans had gotten the jump on me. The screen advised me I had to wait my turn. I waited impatiently.
My wife passed by with a duster in her hand, and asked what I was doing. I explained the reason for my excitement. Carole King is coming to town. I am waiting in line, only doing it online. I sang a little “I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet” to her. My wife seemed unaffected. She often seems unaffected when I am excited. Perhaps I’m too subtle. Perhaps she never felt the earth move under her feet.
The wait was finally over. Suddenly, the screen changed, and as Sherlock Holmes once said, “the game was afoot.” I began whistling “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” as I clicked madly through the screens. Which price seats was I interested in? Being the big sport that I am, something my wife doesn’t always appreciate, I clicked on best available.
There were two seats in Section 114 at a cost of $125 per ticket. I wondered if that included cocktails and food. It did not. It wasn’t even Dollar Dog Night. But hey, this is Carole King, gotta spring for the cash.
I decided to check the seating diagram. I should explain my wife has a fear of heights. So did Kim Novak in “Vertigo.” I kind of fancy myself in the Jimmy Stewart role. Kim and Jimmy were going to see King. I hummed “You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman.”
Unfortunately, all the clicking and the pondering and the humming must have taken too long. The screen advised me I was out of time. I would have to begin all over again. I was undaunted. Our lack of daunt is a family trait. No daunt here. I whistled a bar or two of “Smackwater Jack” and started over.
I was ultimately brought back to the screen where I had been unceremoniously ousted just moments before. I got out the credit card. What is the secret three-digit code on the back of the card? Damn, it was illegible. I called down to my wife: “Check your credit card, honey, and give me the three-digit code.” Time was running out. Too late, I was ejected again.
Hey, who do they think they’re messing around with? This is the No. 1 Carole King fan they’re fooling with. Does Carole know how I am being treated? Back into the system I went singing, “Smackwater Jack.”
There is this secret code on the screen I must enter in order to buy the tickets. Since the system is generating the code, why is it I need to give it back to them? Shouldn’t they already know it? What is this, some kind of game? It consists of numbers and letters and is hidden behind some kind of web. Is that an “S” or a “7?” Is that some kind of profanity being spelled out? The code is on a slant. I tilt my head from side-to-side. I decided to guess “7.” In retrospect it wasn’t a “7.” I always have found things are clearer in retrospect. The system timed me out again.
Maybe it was the moment when my wife ducked her head into the room and cracked, “How’s it going, Tommy?” Tommy is my name when sarcasm is her game. Maybe it was the realization no matter how much I love King, she had fewer hits in recent years than Eric Bruntlett. Whatever it was, I began screaming filthy curses at the screen, one of which was a very unfortunate remark about the parents of Bill Gates.
I got ahold of myself. Humming “So Far Away,” I became determined. The Cardellas don’t quit when they’re behind, just when they are ahead. I got to the final screen.
How did I want my tickets shipped, or, perchance did I want to print my own tickets? I’ll print my own damned tickets. Still, as I totaled up my cost, there was a stiff charge for a handling fee. How the hell could they charge me a handling fee? I was the one doing the handling. I was angry. I got timed out again.
“Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,
Carole King is singing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in my house — mighty Cardella has struck out.”
28043877
