There was a line of people there. (They are in the picture). I wondered: "what, pray tell, are they doing there." I'm not sure why I wondered that, because I had a pretty good idea: they were there to watch Letterman. Let's face it: I was pretty sure they weren't there to watch a Burlesque.
I asked someone in line: "what, pray tell, are you doing here." That day I was utilizing the underutilized "pray tell" verbiage all day as a gag... That no one liked or even understood. And I got an answer I did. They were in line to see Letterman... And they didn't pay a dime. "They are indeed artful consumers!" I yelled with glee.
So I inquired how to see the show, as my story goes. I was told: come back! "Come back, my dear friend!" (This whole memory unfolds like Broadway in my mind for some reason). I was then directed to the times:
On Saturday I came back and was excited... I talked with the friendlies inside about my wasted life of comedy. (I thought they cared, but they didn't. Sniff). I signed, put my friends name down as a guest... And expected that was the end of that. These things don't actually happen to some blerg that just moved from Tampa to the big city.
On Sunday, I received a Voice Mail directing me to call back if I wanted to watch Letterman. On Monday I was in the seats. Minus my friend, who had to take off. My friends do that. Maybe I'm embarrassing to be around.
And what did I pay? $495.39.
Just kidding: it was free.
And quite awesome I might add. I would show you pictures from inside, but I didn't take any, that's illegal. ;-)
Stay safe, my apple dumplings.
Timmy
