or, “How Kirstin didn’t get to see Mirbek Atabekov in concert.”
Maybe this is karma for publicly admitting that I wasn’t the biggest fan of his most recent music video? Maybe in my current state (pregnant, if you forgot), I’m suddenly incapable of performing simple tasks like buying concert tickets? Maybe there is something in the universe that is preventing me from ever seeing a proper pop show in Kyrgyzstan?
Whatever it is, I tried and failed to procure tickets to tonight’s Mirbek Atabekov concert at the Sports Palace.
It seemed simple enough; Farrell and I stopped by the Sports Palace during normal operating hours last week. My line of thinking was 1) go to ticket desk, 2) spit out some phrases in broken Russian while pointing to one of the many posters of Mirbek, 3) purchase tickets, 4) leave victorious, though slightly embarrassed.
But the desk was closed and the plan was foiled from the start. (Hey Kirstin, maybe you went during their lunch break? Uh, no. There was a sign that said they’re closed from 12-1pm and it was after 2pm when I went.)
Another girl was there, calling her friend and pouting at a Mirbek poster. She said something like, “I guess I need to call the number on this poster?” I programmed the number into my phone and gave it to my friends/fellow Mirbek fangirls (who have far superior language skills than me) to take over ticket-acquiring duties.
Except the owner of that phone number never picked up. Ever. You would think if you were going to stick your phone number on a poster, you’d make an effort to answer it at some point over the course of several days?
Plan C. We’re all busy working girls who couldn’t find the time to go back to the ticket desk, but maybe we could call the Sports Palace and ask what the deal is? Surely they would know something about how to buy tickets. We found two different phone numbers.
Neither of them worked.
By now it’s 6pm, getting dark and pouring rain. (Sigh, summer really is gone) What’s left to do?
Bake cookies. Maybe next time, Mirbek.