When I booked the trip to Philly, I also bought tickets to In The Heights on Broadway for this Sunday. I used Ticketmaster, since it was the only option, though I despise those fuckers. A momentary lapse of reason caused me to select their TicketFast delivery, which is the function whereby they send you a PDF of the tickets (or you log into their system to get it) and then print it out at home.
They charge you $2.50/ticket for this. Yes, two dollars and fifty cents for the privilege of printing your own ticket. Whatever. It was stupid, but I did it.
Tonight I went through the usual travel prep-- do laundry, pack, check in for my flight online, print my boarding pass and itinerary, and print any other documents I might need for the trip. In this case, that meant printing the show tickets.
Guess what? They never sent me the PDFs. This doesn't seem like a big deal, since there's a "click here to print your tickets" link in the email they sent me.
I clicked. I logged in. I clicked on the order. I got the usual Ticketmaster queue screen, followed by a screen of fail. I tried again, same Knight Rider queue animation, followed by fail. After a third try, I used my sophisticated human pattern-matching skills to figure out there was a problem. Motherfucker.
Being the good internet customer that I am, I dove into their help system. I found the entry about not being able to print TicketFast tickets, and it suggested that I check my Acrobat version and make sure my printer is online. Thanks bud, that's oh so terribly helful. They suggested I contact them by email, but I'm getting on a plane at oh-dark-hundred tomorrow-- my guess is that they'd respond to my email in October. October 2011. Motherfuckers.
I dug around in Contact Us, and learned that their customer service closes at 9 local time. MOTHERFUCKER.
But wait! They have a Hawaii number. I'll call that. Automated system, of course. I pressed all the right buttons, then entered my order number on the keypad-- I followed their instructions carefully, entering stars for dashes and slashes. And then "there's a problem, press 2 to speak to an operator." I did.
"We're sorry, our service center is closed. Our hours are..." MOTHERFUCKER WITH MAYO, ON RYE.
So now I can't print tickets. I can't get to customer service. I can't get into the show without printing tickets. I'm leaving for the airport tomorrow morning at 7. If I'm lucky, Bill will have a printer and I'll be able to straighten it out. If not, MOTHERFUCKERS AT TICKETMASTER WILL SUFFER!
Hell, they should suffer anyway. They are made of pure evil, with a liberal topping of stupid sauce and sprinkles of asinine.
Anticlimactic ending: I tried again two hours later, and it worked. The motherfuckers should still suffer, though.
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