Ziggy Marley

Last night was the Ziggy Marley concert at the Music Hall. It had been sold out for the last few days, and on Saturday the phone would ring every three minutes with people looking to get tickets. I can't get over the dumb things people say when you tell them "I'm sorry, the show is sold out."
"All the seats?"
"Are you sure?"
"Can't you make an exception?"
See, sold out means just that. If there are no seats left available, then WE AREN'T SELLING ANY MORE! We don't have secret seats that come up out of the floor for people who ask over and over. (We have swings that drop from the dome.)
The place was mobbed last night, people crowding into the lobby and out on the streets. My window had a huge line of people who would ask one after another "Can I get tickets?" Did they not just hear me say it was sold out to the twenty other people who were in line in front of them? I had one stupid lady who asked me to upgrade her seats, something we'll normally do if we have any seats still available. When I told her the show was sold out, she said "Well, can't you just put me in different seats anyway?" Where? On someone's lap? I hate people who think they're entitled to things. Don't be pissed at me just because you drove from Rhode Island for a sold-out show and couldn't get in. You had three weeks to purchase tickets, plenty of time to get them.
Bozo of the night award goes to the guy who asked me, when picking up his tickets, "This is Bob Marley's son, right?"
As for Ziggy Marley himself, I never laid eyes on him. After the wretched time we had in the box office before the show, we scattered at the first available opportunity. You know what they say, familiarity and all...