buying tickets to a show has proven difficult.

Mr. Ticketmaster,

There is a myriad of companies out there that seem to deliberately go out of their way to confound and mystify their clientele, but you, Ticketmaster, indeed have taken it into a majestic new realm. Your telephone system is, truly and deeply, a Sisyphaen and labyrinthine ordeal of the highest magnitude. The sheer volume of dead-ends, detours and cul-de-sacs in your operations would do the most dim-witted municipal planner proud, and it's ability to flummox is only matched by 'automated, telephone operator' Claire's ungodly ability to annoy all that is holy out of anyone who has to listen to her automated, telephone robo-enthusiasm. It is cruel indeed, Ticketmaster, to have the guardian of Hell be as perky and as obtuse as a mildly retarded schoolgirl.

And yet, cruelty is thine currency, isn't it, Ticketmaster? The urgent sounding latin boy who suddenly interjects himself into the (extraordinarily ample) holding time, only to notify me that, if I so desire, I can ditch these suckers right now and order up some BillyTalent tickets RIGHT NOW. No, thank you, Renualdo, but circumstances have brought me here with very different motives. What? Dial '1' to 'continue waiting'? Thank you, sir, thank you for letting me continue to wait. But, what? Surprise of surprises, '1' is an escape pod, straight back to the beginning of this dystopian nightmare! Is that Claire laughing in the distance? Or is that the the Ticketmaster Himself, sipping on the broth of human misery? A curse on you, Ticketmaster. A terrible curse on you and your awful, awful phone maze.

Seriously,
Herbert U. Norway