A Buffett Concert Like No Other

Everyone who is a dedicated fan of a particular band has some crazy story about how they acquired tickets and ended up at a concert in some other town at almost the drop of a hat. Last night it came to be my turn.

As many of you know I consider myself a loyal member of the Parrothead nation and have now attended seven Jimmy Buffett shows in Orlando, Tallahassee, Atlanta and now Jacksonville. I haven’t quite made it to the point where my car turns into a shark and I wear a grass skirt though it really can’t be that far off the horizon. Last night Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefer Band played Jacksonville for the first time in almost twenty years and I was there, enjoying every minute of it. But before I get into the show, I’ve got to build up the story.

Sometimes it just comes down to who you know. My friend Kyle happens to work for the State of Florida and has a few connections that reach into the US Department of State. I won’t reveal the full extent of his connections here so as not to get anyone into possible trouble. But lets just say he knows a guy who knows a guy who is the attorney for the Jacksonville Veterans Memorial Stadium. And wouldn’t you know that just happened to the venue where Bubba was playing? Needless to say a request was made and last Thursday afternoon word was passed down the preverbal grapevine that tickets would be waiting at will call for us. Plans were made and around two yesterday afternoon we left Tallahassee for I-10. There were just about a hundred and fifty miles between us and our Parrothead friends.

When we got to the stadium we knew things were on our side as we scored a parking space right next to the exit of the lot. Fighting to leave would not be a problem after the concert. Never having spent more then a fleeting moment in Jacksonville, we had no idea where we could score dinner before the show. What do you do in that situation? Ask a newsman. The guy pointed us to The Amsterdam Cafe right next to the stadium and dinner was had. The cheeseburgers, not quite in paradise but good none the less, seriously showed up minutes after we ordered. These guys were on the ball. Next stop, will call.

Here is where our troubles began. Kyle went up to will call to claim the tickets and was told that there was nothing in the computer under his name but from the sound of who left them, chances was they were in the marketing office. So we went there. These people didn’t really put second thought into it as the names we were dropping seemed too good to be true and when they couldn’t find our tickets either, decided to ignore us. After a frantic phone call to his connection–which resulted in voice mail–another attempt was made at will call with a different teller. This woman seemed to be in a friendlier mood then the first and decided to try all the names the tickets could possibly be under: Kyle’s, Kyle’s connection, Kyle’s connection’s attorney friend. At this point the woman told us to step aside and wait. Ten minutes later she arrived out of a side door with our tickets, Section 101, row B, seats 10-12. It was now only a matter of time.

Once the gates opened we hit up the t-shirt vendor, which was organized madness to say the least. Conversation was made with the woman in front of us about t-shirt selections and, of all things, how to be more visible on a dive boat. Once the purchases were made, it was time to find our seats. We had no idea where they were in relation to the stage as an arena map was nowhere to be found, though from the seat numbers they sounded good. Good is an understatement, these seats were great. Section 101 was on the left corner of the stage and Row B translated to the second row. So there we were, about forty-five minutes before show time and almost close enough to touch the stage. After some small talk with our local security guard, and the realization that people owned tickets to seats one through seven of our row–which didn’t exist–we were ready to go.

Prior to the show, while the owners of the phantom seats were straightening things out with guest services, beach balls were flying across the stadium. There was a little girl, no older then eight, waiting in front of us with her mom while her dad took care of their tickets. Every time a beach ball ended up in our general area (and by general area I mean about a four row radius) it was given to her and in her attempt to spike it into the crowd she would inevitably hit one of us in the face. This little girl is probably the only person in the stadium that was luckier then us last night as when guest services fixed their seating arrangement they ended up right in front of the stage–so close that the girl was able to hand Jimmy, while he was performing, a note she had written him. This netted the girl, upon his return for his first encore, one of Jimmy’s sandals.

Once everyone’s seating arrangements were taken care of, the show began. What a show it was. In typical Buffett fashion he played almost thirty songs, a good majority which was from his older, dust covered catalogue–this made me particularly happy. A few shameless segments, a video tribute to the late Johnny Carson, and two encores–one dedicated to the recently departed Hunter S. Thompson–and nearly three hours later the show was over and it was time to go home. By two in the morning, twelve hours after the journey began, I was in bed attempting to recharge my batteries in time for class this morning. And that is the story of how I acquired Buffett tickets and sat just off the stage and made eye contact with one of the greatest performers of the last few decades.