The (Nigerian) Prince and I

Incapable of allowing Bruce Springsteen to come to town for any reason without me getting within earshot or eyeshot, and having been locked out of getting tickets to his one-on-one interview when they went on sale, I turned to my old favorite, Craigslist. Some non-responses to my queries, a "no" response to another one, and a couple of possibilities.

The first one said he wanted about a quarter of the price everyone else was asking. It was clear why when he texted me that he wanted to have me send him the money through moneygram. Um, no. I even posted on FB: Why, yes, CL Springsteen interview ticket seller. I'll happily send you money through moneygram. #WhatCouldGoWrong #bruuuuuuuuuuce

Come on. What kind of fool do you take me for?

The second one I had multiple email exchanges with and then name exchanges and then PayPal name exchanges and then the money and ticket exchange.

That last sentence is nearly 100% true. The part that isn't true? I never got the ticket. He got the money via PayPal but then he stopped communicating with me. [Sexist pig that I am, even though I had been exchanging emails with "Jenny," when it became apparent I'd been duped, I assumed it was actually a guy. Truth be told, he's probably a pedophile, too. Terrorist? Easily.]

The slowly dawning realization, trying to be held back by the desire for it to just be some glitch but I'd still get the ticket and hear Bruce, was painful. I had already planned on going to hit people up for a ticket outside the theater if I didn't get one before, so off I went. Bitter. Filled with shame. Kicking myself. What an idiot!

But, hey, it's Bruce. It's Bruce.

So I let it go and hit the pavement hard with BFF Lori, harassing all of the ticket holders with pleas of "Got just one ticket to sell? Please?!" "Need just one ticket!" "Hey, you got a ticket to sell?"

At 7:26, Lori went in to her high-priced StubHub-purchased nosebleed and I stood out by the entrance. I held the sign hastily written by Lori and I besieged all passers-by. At 7:30, show time, a guy stopped as he went by, said, "What'd you say?" I said, "Do you have an extra ticket to sell?"

He didn't.

What he did have was an extra ticket that he pulled out, handed to me and said, "Here, have this one."

"Really?! No, I have to pay you something," I said.

"That's all right. But you'll have to sit next to me," he said.

So I did. Just a few seats shy of dead center, three rows up in the loge.

Thank you, Brian of Benicia! You're the real prince.