As we arrive at the entrance a reporter from a lesser publication, standing immediately in front of us, is struggling to convince the ticket booth lady he’s on the guest list.
“But you’ve got to let me in! This was arranged a month ago! I love this band!”
The ticket booth lady looks at him as if he’s a mirror and she’s a cat who’s caught sight of her own reflection and says she can’t do a thing. Disgruntled man leans forward and whispers something. Ticket booth lady turns around and delegates the decision to a younger lady, who further delegates it to some hidden face in the next room. A minute passes. The queue behind disgruntled man grows in synch with his humiliation. Eventually the word comes back and he’s allowed in. He snatches the tickets and makes a grizzly bear sound as he storms inside. We approach the desk.
