It was during the first song or two that I felt a tap on my shoulder. Good thing I didn’t waste my money on them. Not wanting to make two more trips up the stairs, I gave up and said, “Forget it.”Īs soon as the next band started, the two girls left and spent the rest of the show down on the floor. The lady told me that she needed to see the hand stamps on the other two people. Any other club ( e.g., Coconut Teaszer) would be sure to give you a stamp or a wrist band before letting you in the door, anything to inflate the pool of liquor-buying patrons.īack at the bar, I once again tried to buy three Coronas. I wondered how this detail had been missed when I first arrived. So, all right, I went and got my hand stamped. I had obviously passed the legal drinking age decades ago, but that wasn’t good enough for her. It was an all-ages club, and the door people were the ones in charge of checking IDs. She explained that I need to go back to the door and get my hand stamped. She told me they were $5.15 each (or maybe she said $5.50?) and looked at my hand. I told the one with long curly blonde hair that I wanted three Coronas (I figured I’d be a nice guy and buy the girls a drink, too). Now that I had somebody to guard my seat, I decided to go down to the bar and get a drink. The only bad part about it was that the drummer occasionally got out of sync with the band.ĭuring the set change-over, a couple of girls joined me at my table. They were actually pretty good, once they got past the opening two songs. Not wanting to spend four hours standing up, I headed for the balcony and found a seat at the railing. The security goon tossed my two pens into the crack between the open door and the wall (that's right, on the ground), and told me I could retrieve the pens there after the show. I remember thinking that the only difference between here and jail was that they didn’t take my belt. It’s bad enough being treated like a criminal, but they were even confiscating pens. This is one of those clubs where they pat down the audience before allowing them into the club. Eventually, fans were allowed into the club. Eventually, some supervisor type leaned in and glared at me, as if to say if I didn’t like it I could get lost.įrom there, it was off to another line and still more waiting around. The ticket itself listed no price, not even a date - all it said was “MASTERDOME” - which made me wonder if someone at the club was pocketing the extra $3. (I had passed on buying the tickets from RipoffMaster because of their $7.50 in added fees - a 62.5% commission for dropping a ticket in the mail!) I asked why the price difference, but the ticket seller claimed ignorance. I could understand not letting people into the club if the soundcheck was still going on, but why hold up ticket sales?įinally reaching the ticket window, I was surprised to find that tickets were $15, not $12, which was the ticket price on the Internet. The line for buying tickets stood dead still for at least 20 minutes. But, of course, everybody had to wait outside anyway. I got to the Whisky A Go Go at just after 8:00 p.m., which was when the doors were supposed to open. The Whisky (And Why I'll Never Go There Again)
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