Foiled Again

My husband is a notoriously difficult gift recipient. Well, he's not difficult exactly, but it's difficult to find a gift that really makes him happy. This year, I had a flash of brilliance. I found a concert that I just knew he would love. It was too expensive for me, so I gave the idea to my mother. She pounced on it with the pent-up enthusiasm that only ten years of gift frustration can bring. We snuck upstairs in the middle of a family party, my mother's credit card tucked safely in her bra. (Mom, obviously, has cloak and dagger fantasies. Who knew?) I navigated to the venue site, found the concert with a big "Tickets Available!" flag and chuckled with excitement as I hit the button to buy the tickets on the reserved section of the floor. I was greeted with one of those verification screens where you have to type in some funky letter/number combination. And while I do appreciate the effort to stop automated ticket agents, it would be better if I could actually read the numbers and letters. I was struggling to discern character #2. Was that a g or a 6? My mother shouted out "B!" without the benefit of her glasses. After several stabs made more difficult by Mom's half-blind interpretations of the gray on gray behind chain link, I finally got the combination correct only to discover that the section was sold out. Repeat for balcony reserve. Repeat for balcony reserve right or left. And we finally discovered that the only tickets available were for general admission, ie, the cattle pen where the underage kiddies are sent so the bouncers can ensure they aren't drinking. Damn. Foiled again. My mother is wrapping up an IOU for a concert of my husband's choice this year. Me? I'm still scrambling for an idea.