Don't forget your tickets!

Thanks Attornaroo, It never hurts for a friendly reminder.

yeah don't forget them! in '05 a bunch of us met half way which was about a 4 hour drive and right when he got there he realized he had forgotten them. he had to drive four hours back to get the tickets. and then another 7 to get to bonnaroo, but he made it and found us!!!

it is great to have the reminder...even though tye will be the first thing I see and are placed ontop of more stuff that needs to be in at the last minute god knows I could forget them anyway...alwasy good to have the extra heads up

edit: I like your way best though Becca

In 2005 my friend forgot his ticket, luckly we only had to drive back 15 minutes to get it.

Good thread! I have 2 stories to relay about forgetting/losing tix. The first one is boring, but but the second one is epic.

First story, very short.

In 1996 on my way out to see Phish at Alpine Valley and Deer Creek, we hit the edge of town, and I noticed, "oh f*ck! I don't have my tickets!" It's a good thing I noticed while we were still IN TOWN or else I would have been pissed. I don't know what I would have done. Since that day, I obsessively check for my ticket, to the point where it is obessive-compulsive and probably not healthy. And that leads me to my...

Second Story

Bonnaroo 2002, the inaugural edition. Thursday night was dark, the highway was long, and we were stuck in some nightmarish traffic. The worst I've ever been in, truth be told. 14 hours it took us. We had plans of getting in the gates on Thursday night and grilling steaks. Those plans were soon vanquished as night descended and dragged on, long and hard, like the slow highway ahead of us. We took turns sleeping in the back, the 3 of us, while one of us tried to stay conscious for the 13 seconds we would move a tenth of a mile every 30 minutes or so. It was my turn to sleep in the back, so, obsessively, I pulled my Bonnaroo ticket out of the glove box, where it had so safely been stashed for the long haul, and placed it in the cargo pocket of my shorts. Being in the back, I wanted.... Scratch that, I needed to have my ticket within arms reach. The glove box wouldn't do for my ticket OCD. I needed to know it was there. To physically touch it. To caress it as if it were a beautiful woman. Or perhaps my baby, my beautiful ticket baby.

With ticket in hand, I fell asleep. It was a comfortable snooze. As comfortable as it gets at 3 AM, on the highway, in the back of a Ford Explorer loaded with camping gear for three dudes. So comfortable in fact, that when I awoke at 6 AM and it was my turn to drive, I didn't even think to check for my ticket. I casually hopped out of the back through the passenger side door, and groggily strolled around the back of the car to the driver seat where I assumed the position.

We must've driven a quarter mile before I noticed. That's when my friends told me that I went white as a sheet. Indeed, my stomach dropped to my groin, and I literally felt ill.

My ticket was gone. My $125 sold-out Bonnaroo ticket was nowhere to be found. I flipped out. I jumped out of the car, and searched the drivers seat. No ticket. I screamed at Rocky to look in the back. No ticket. "Look Harder!" No ticket. "Get out, Rocky, I'm looking myself." NO TICKET.

Now I'm not ill, I'm scared. Sun had just arisen on an entire night of sitting in traffic to get into a sold out festival, one which had all of my favorite bands, one which had never happenned before. I had paid for a ticket. I had nurtured the ticket to this point, and now, my ticket was nowhere to be found.

That's when it hit me. It had to have fallen out when I got out of the car. We had driven about a quarter mile, and my only option was to walk back and find it. But I wasn't in a walking mood. No sir, this kid wasn't walkin' nowhere. I sprinted. Harder and more determined than I have ever sprinted in my life, I ran back down the highway in the opposite direction of the traffic. Along the shoulder I ran, looking under the cars as I went. Just as I got to about a quarter mile down the road, ahead of me, under an SUV, lay a white envelope, the size of a Bonnaroo ticket. I ran to it. I picked it up. On the front read my name, "Justin Metz." I opened it. Inside was my ticket.

It was literally underneath the passenger side door of an SUV, and had just been run over by the tire. As I picked it up, the guy in the passenger seat looked at me and asked me "Is that yours?" To which I muttered with all my relief, "thankfully, yes." He saw the look in my eyes and I shared with him the first of many "bonnaroo moments." Then, I turned and headed back to the car, walking this time. Breathing. Allowing the blood to rush back into my body and my stomach to slowly pick itself up off the road. It took me a little bit longer to get back as traffic was moving more smoothly now. When I made it back I deposited my ticket safely in the glove box, where it stayed until I handed it to the gentleman at the gate.

Simultaneously the greatest and scariest story I have ever read

<----- my ticket is glued to my nose

Okay, mine isn't "dropping the ticket on the highway," but . . .

I packed the car Tuesday night last year with everything we could possibly need for two weeks camping, and we would only be four days. I worked Wednesday and hit the road at 3:00 p.m. to pick up my Roo pal in a city two hours from my house toward Manchester. I reached the interstate in his town, and headed for his house. In my head, I began to go over the things that I packed to make sure, sure, sure I didn't forget anything. As I got about ten minutes from his house, I realized that I forgot three important items. My ticket, his ticket, and our friend's ticket.

I exclaimed one very long, very loud string of expeltives about myself to myself, and I called my wife to tell her I'm an idiot. (As if she didn't know already.) She offered to grab the tickets and meet me at the halfway point betwee our house, and my buddy's house, which would save my bud and I two hours roundtrip. She was a life saver that day!

So, on the way back, I was supposed to meet her in a town on Highway 30, but, by force of habit, I took Interstate 80 (30 miles or so south) and had to backtrack again. I told my friend not to tell her, but can you blame him for doing it anyway? Despite this rocky (and embarassing) start, the trip couldn't have been more fun. At least I didn't realize I forgot the tickets when the attendant asked for them at the ticket booths! And by the way, the weekend proved that I had packed everything we needed and more. With the one glaring exception.