Months ago we both tickets to see Kathleen Madigan downtown on 11/9.
Evening of of 11/8: Gary said, “I feel bad.” I began organizing my list of friends I could call upon to step in when Gary flakes.
Morning of 11/9: Gary said, “I feel pretty good.”
Late morning of 11/9, Gary said, “I don’t feel good.”
I contacted two friends, but neither of them could take Gary’s ticket. As I was calling my third friend, Gary said, “I can go. I’ll be fine.”
Thirty years of this made me reply, “No, you’re just jacking me around,” and I kept dialing the next friend in my list.
“No. Stop,” he said. “Really, I’ll be fine. I want to go.”
Five minutes before we were going to leave, he said, and does this shock you, “I can’t go. I’m too sick.”
There was some screaming, and the one friend I contacted right after that call could probably report how disgusted I sounded, but of course she had plans as well. There was no time, of course, so I just put out a call on Facebook that if anyone wanted to meet me downtown before the concert I had a free ticket, which of course went to waste, because the only taker saw it too late. This caused me to waste the pre-paid parking ticket as well, because I didn’t want to hike three blocks alone downtown at night, but I made it into the next-door Blues hockey parking garage before it closed.
Once in my seat, I offered Gary’s seat to the woman on the other side of it. It turns out she was there alone because HER worthless ticket-wasting husband did the same thing, only his excuse was, “I just don’t feel like going,” and he had pulled the same stunt before with Elton John tickets. We bonded, obviously. (Her husband didn’t waste cruise tickets by forgetting his passport, but he did waste a shore excursion because he went back for his hat and missed the boat.)
I was very fortunate to encounter a fellow sufferer. (I am a little surprised she spoke to me, given that he betrayed me while my hair was still un-fixed, which means I stomped out of the house and I hadn’t done anything but dry the roots, so it was just chunks of splayed hair.)
Later, during the act, I noticed there were other empty seats in our row. How many seats belonged to other seat-wasting dogs-in-the-manger who jacked their wives around? Live and learn. In the future, I will not believe the “No, really, I’m fine,” mid-morning dodge, and just go ahead and get another date.