This past weekend, some girlfriends and I had organized a fun night out in downtown Chicago. No husbands, no kids, just us girls kickin’ it in the city. Unfortunately, though, our whole night was planned around a godforsaken musical that we’d bought tickets to see on LivingSocial. It was called, “Girls Night: The Musical” and promised to be a super fun mix of “Desperate Housewives meets Mama Mia“. Sounds pretty awesome, right? Yeah, that’s what we thought, too, but, much to our dismay, it turned out to be the biggest shit show of junk we’d ever seen in our lives.
When we arrived at the “theater” (and I use that word VERY loosely), we were immediately ushered down a dark and dingy set of stairs. At the bottom was a room that looked much like Grandma’s basement with rows of chairs facing a very small “stage” where two guys (at least, I think they were guys) were performing their own crappy version of a comedy routine. One was shirtless with pink hot pants, a boa, and pink feathered boots, while the other dude was wearing a rainbow-colored Afro on his head. My friends and I all gave each other a seriously confused WTF?! look but played along, nonetheless. Apparently, they were the warm-up act (our first clue that we’d been totally ripped off).
We were led to our “VIP” seats we had been promised, which were conveniently located behind a ginormous beam that completely obstructed our view. I politely asked if we could be moved since, after all, we’d been told we’d have a front-row table, and this was CLEARLY anything but. So we were then taken to what was supposedly the “more VIP” area. This lovely section was even farther back in Grandma’s basement and was nothing more than five bar stools shoved together in front of the bar. We figured maybe it would be better to be closer to the liquor since our ticket price included a “specialty cocktail“. However, the cocktail was our choice between the bottom of the bottom shelf of gin, rum, or vodka. I begrudgingly went with the vodka, took one sip, and nearly spit the damn thing across the room cause it tasted just like a glass full of poison. Awesome. We were gonna have to endure this nightmare completely sober.
When the main act finally came out, we didn’t know what to make of the sight before our eyes. The lead girl was dressed like an angel for some unknown reason, and from what we could tell, the four other girls seemed to be in some type of a bar setting. But the acoustics of the room were so unbelievably bad, that we couldn’t hear a thing they were saying. After twenty minutes of watching these women prance around on the stage, we simply couldn’t take it anymore. There seemed to be absolutely no plot or rhyme or reason to the story whatsoever, not to mention the fact that it was hotter than a summer day in Hell down there. So we grabbed our things and marched our unsatisfied selves right out of that dungeon of crazy.
To think that we paid $50 each for that piece of crap is truly disgraceful. How LivingSocial roped all of us fun-loving, educated women into paying that kind of money for something so utterly shiteous is beyond me. Talk about some false advertising! You can bet your ass that they’re going to hear an ear-full from each and every one of us, too. Nobody else should have to endure the torture of Grandma’s basement like we did. It’s the least we could do for all womankind. You’re welcome.