Fifteen Minutes of Fangirl Fame

So, if you haven't gathered yet, I have a mild obsession with the band Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit. Great music, unparalleled lyrics, and humans behind the music that are profoundly wonderful. That band is an inspiration. They recently had a six night run at the Mother Church, the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville. There was a mad scramble for tickets back in maybe March. Now we can pick up.

During the pre-sale for Nashville, I thought I’d try for Sunday because it seemed like the day least likely to have competition in my brain. So I searched for one ticket and the best available option and a second row turned up. It was $99.50 before fees, but I thought “I’ll never again have the chance to see these folks, my favorite folks, in this sacred place, this close again” so I bought it.

While I had my other tickets mailed to me when I realized I’d have to wait until day of to print, I couldn’t get this ticket mailed, despite trying. So I called and had them send it over to Will Call so I’d have the paper ticket for my collection of stalker memorabilia. I thought since it was close ticket, they were just doing the best they could to prevent resale, which I understand, appreciate, and am quite grateful for.

I'd heard unconfirmed rumors that with the tickets in the first two rows for each night, a signed Hatch Print would be included. I kind of hoped it was true. Like a lot.

So, I arrive on Sunday in the drizzle and cooler temperatures to scoop up my ticket beside a line of probably 100 people standing and waiting, hoping to get in for a poster of the show. They’re wet and cold, and some don’t have umbrellas. They are tough as nails.

I walk up to the will call window and a nice young fellow asks for my card and ID. I give him both and he scans my card and says it’s the wrong one. I explain that my bank switched hands and that they sent a new one. He looks it up with the rest of my information and asks for my ID again. He walks away with it. Past the very obvious stack of posters in a large, flat, pale brown paper bag with “Jason Isbell” written on it in Sharpie. I wanted to tell him that I thought the posters were probably in there, but he seemed to know what he was doing. So I waited.

About a minute later, he comes back with my ID and my ticket and asks me to step around the side to pick up my poster because they clearly won’t fit through the will call window. I come to the door and a petite lady comes from the side door carrying two blue Ryman gift bags and offers one to the man in front of me. His bag contains several posters. Next she offers me the remaining bag. I take it and since I’m under the awning, I dare to take a peek at it before I put it in my handy dandy poster tube. 

When I unroll it, I see Jason’s signature, given away only by the two loopy “l” letters at the end. And beside it, about three or four inches tall, a stick figure who is not smiling. Atop the stick figure is a squiggly corkscrew turned sideways. Almost like the stick figure has curly hair.

My first thought is “HE DREW ME ON THE POSTER.” My second thought is “NO WAY. He has no idea who I am.” Then I turn and ask a good buddy if he always does this. He said that his signature is always illegible and I said that that wasn't what I meant and turned the poster around for him to see. I got a couple laughs and one definitive “No.” I proceed to fangirl. I’d had too much coffee and was already excited. I’d pay to see the security footage of my reaction. I’d pay even more for a photo of my face when I unrolled that poster.

I do not know how this happened. I am an analytical thinker. I am critical, hence my moment of doubt that he signed the poster special for me. My only conclusion is that he was provided with a list of the names of the folks in the first two rows and he must have recognized mine. That is the vanity in me. The other is that he just felt like putting AWESOME hair on that poster by complete accident.

It should come as no surprise, since they have started recognizing their biggest (stalker) fan at shows. They really don't know me, but they always treat me like an old friend. They remember my name and ask how I'm doing and things like "How did we sound?" as if I'd ever hear anything but awesome. It's because they are truly grateful for their fans and they're also kind of just really incredible humans. I have chosen well.