What's the worst that could happen?
Well, the worst would be that the guy sold me a fake ticket, Sasquatch won't let me in, and I'll either miss Day 3, or I'll pay a bundle for a Day 3 ticket at the last minute on top of the $65 I already lost. And then a grizzly bear comes out and harvests my organs for the biological weapon I've been infected with, using only his bare (bear) claws and teeth, and Mr. Scrooge fires Pa on Christmas Eve!
That's probably the worst that could happen. It's not without recourse though, because I have the guy's e-mail address. I presumably have his phone number, though I never did bother to call him. And I know where the guy works, because that's where I went to pick up the ticket.
The best that could happen is that I'm NOT hungover after two solid days of drinking 151 & Cokes, I get there with my ticket and they let me in, Explosions In The Sky closes out Sasquatch (with Ben Harper playing in the distance) with a monster 3 and a half hour set until they finally have to physically unplug the amps, then they go on to do another half hour acoustic, and all the while the Blowjob Fairy is flying around me, administering oral pleasure all day and night.
That's probably the best that could happen.
Either way, I'm going in like Leroy Jenkins!
After picking up my ticket last night, I drove back to my neck of the woods, stopped by my local liquor store, and picked up another half-a-fifth of 151 and a half-a-fifth of Malibu. Why Malibu, you ask? Well, it's quite elementary my dear Watson. The 151 bottles are made of glass; they're heavy. The Malibu bottle is plastic, and it's slightly curved, so it can cup my leg more easily. I'm still trying to figure out where exactly I want to tape it; I was thinking my inner thigh. If I wear baggy shorts, it shouldn't be noticed. Then again, maybe shorts aren't a good play. Shorts have pockets they may want to inspect. Maybe jeans are the better way to go ... but dammit it's going to be in the high 80s this weekend!
Fuck it, shorts it is. Maybe I'll bring a bag and put stuff in it that will keep me warm in the nighttime hours.
As you can see, I really don't know what I'm doing. I hope I'm making a bigger deal out of this than it should be. If these people are anything like those taking tickets and checking bags at Jazzfest, you can pretty much wear one of those beer helmets with the long tube straws and they'll wave you through.
Speaking of which, I can't forget my Jazzfest hat. It's going to be sunny as fuck-all and I burn like bacon