Helpful Advice for Talking Your Way into a Sold-Out Show

Categories: Helpful Advice
The order of operations (or inoperation) for the desperate music fan sans concert ticket has a timeless cadence. You missed the 10 a.m. pre-sale. Craigslist is littered with gougers. The scalpers at the door are selling scraps of paper with the hand-drawn phrase "Dis tick is LGit." You've no other choice but to pop in a mint and head for the bouncer. But we're not whores, we're slick-tongued, desperate youths. Here's our advice: Keep your lipstick and cleavage where it belongs and employ one of these strategies:

You own the place.

Some bouncers are so low on the totem pole that it's entirely possible they've never met the brass. Knowing the owner's name, or simply throwing out a name that sounds like a club owner's name (like Maxamillion Warbucks), or inserting the word "Group" after you name ("Maxamillion Warbucks, of the Warbucks Group") goes a long way. For an added touch of verisimilitude, take down the bouncer's name if he gives you any grief and shake your head dramatically.

You're a talent scout.
Maybe you are "only here to see the opening band," but your ass is gonna get fired if you don't check out the talent onstage. A quick flash of any business card will do, and make sure to tell the bouncer you also scout talent for the MMA, and that he fits the bill. Write down any seven-digit number (or six if you're feeling greedy) and tell him to call you ("I've got a cage fight coming up that you'd be perfect for").

You're a limo driver.

You bring salvation.
You're spreading the word that the destruction of the present world order is imminent and Armageddon may be upon us sooner than we think. God's kingdom will be delivered to Earth, and God would also like to put on a show in your fine concert hall when this happens. Items to bring: book with gold trimmings, pocket protector, backpack, Kool-Aid.

You are getting sleepy.
Or rather, the bouncer is getting sleepy, because you're hypnotizing him with the glow sticks you brought! Experience in the art of poi may come in handy here, but really all you need to do is move the glow sticks back and forth and have the bouncer repeat this line: "I don't care enough to stop you from sneaking into this show." Thirty times should do the trick.

You have a delivery for a Mr. (insert lead guitarist's name here).
For this, you'll be need to wear all brown, bring a guitar-shaped box in wrapping paper, and preferably own a brown industrial paddy wagon. Sorry, you can't leave the delivery at the door, the recipient must sign for it... on my chest.

Show them your FastTrak pass and run right on through.
Don't even bother waiting in line with all the proletariat schmucks, and don't you dare think about slowing down. Flash that pass all the way to the stage or the front of the bar. This also entitles you to laugh wildly and flip off the people waiting in line.

You live here.
Draw up a fake lease agreement and act surprised when he questions you: Dude, we share a bathroom together, how do you not remember me? You've been treating that thing egregiously by the way. And would you keep all the music down at night? I'm trying to mast-- er, meditate.

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What a stupid, useless attempt at being funny. I read the SF weekly every day and this may be the worst article I've ever read. Did you pay this guy or is he just a volunteer or something? It's very un-original too. Get it together SF Weekly.

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