We first went online to buy the tickets about three months ago, the day that they became available. They sold out nearly instantaneously, and we were left empty handed. But we weren't particularly worried. There are scalpers at every concert by every band, and Phish shows have a particularly robust network of ticket sellers and t-shirt vendors that follow them from show to show. Aimee told me that this is called Shakedown Street, and that's where we'd be able to buy some tickets.
So after our picnic in Dolores Park, we went to an ATM to take out an undisclosed amount of cash. Around 5:00, we headed downtown to the show. Now, in any other city, following the crowd of dreadlocks and hula hoops would have led you straight to the Phish concert. But not here. In downtown San Francisco, that leads you to the grocery store or some other mundane location. But after walking around the area, we found Shakedown Street and put our fingers up in the air.
As Aimee taught me (and you probably could have guessed), a finger in the air means that we were looking for a ticket. After seeing what they were going for online, I was pretty weary that we'd be able to find a ticket at all, let alone for a reasonable price. And after a few unsuccessful laps around Shakedown Street, we were starting to come to terms with the unfortunate reality. But as we were walking, forlorn, back to the subway station, someone came up to us and said that his buddy had bailed. The guy looked like he worked at an insurance company, so I was only somewhat skeptical of handing him a still-undisclosed amount of cash.
Two hours before, when we were at the ATM, I asked Aimee if we should take out a bit of extra cash in case we wanted to go above our ticket budget. But Aimee stayed firm. However, when our insurance agent ticket seller quoted a price about 20% higher than what we wanted to spend, Aimee said "We'll take it!" before I could even turn my head to ask her what she thought.
Of course, that only left us with one ticket, which was effectively as bad as zero--worse if it was a fake. I started running though scenarios of how I was going to pawn off a possibly counterfeit ticket that I had just spent half our rent money on. But it didn't take long for someone else to see that we were still looking for another. The second guy looked quite a bit less insurance agenty, and in any other situation, I would have never given him a briefcase full of cash for a wrinkled computer print out. But in this situation, it felt right. Besides, Aimee had a look in her eye that I wasn't about to get in front of.
So, with two tickets of questionable legitimacy, we went up to the venue and tempted fate. Aimee went first, and the gate agent scanned her ticket and let her through. I was next, and the microsecond between the barcode scan and the green light on the agent's handheld device was one of the scarier in recent memory. But I got a green light, and we were in! Aimee was thrilled, and I needed a beer.
As we were waiting in the beer line, I asked Aimee what number Phish show this was for her. "This is my...15th, no...14th, no...15th show."
The show was general admission, and Aimee said that we were about 10 years past the point that the floor of a Phish show would be fun. But we found some great seats overlooking the stage near several other people who knew what it felt like to pay a mortgage.
As the, um, fog rolled in, Phish took the stage to uproarious applause.
The three-set, four-hour show was one of the best that I've ever been to. Even the ushers were dancing in the aisles. Plus, it was a lot of fun to see Phish culture up close. I've never overheard so much analysis of a set list during intermission.
I had been gradually listening to more Phish since I first met Aimee, but after I saw them live, I completely got it. It was an absolutely perfect concert experience. It was a ton of fun, and we took the streetcar home with giant grins on our faces.
When we got back to Tim's place, we all compared notes about how our nights went. And as fun as the show was, it was hardly the most unique event of the evening. Tim's roommate had just gotten back from an underground Lucha Libre wrestling match near Berkeley. We're going to miss this place.
