Alright, so folks have been asking about my whole Kevin Hart in Bridgeport, CT adventure. Let me tell you, it was an experience, and not entirely in the way I expected when I first heard he was coming to town. Or, well, that town. Definitely not my town.
Getting Those Tickets - Or So I Thought
First off, the announcement dropped, and I was like, YES! I absolutely had to see him. Bridgeport, CT, here I come. I wasn't even thinking about how I'd actually get there yet, just that I needed those tickets. You know how it goes.
- I set about three alarms for when the sales were supposed to open. Prepared.
- Logged onto the website, computer all ready to go, my credit card practically burning a hole in my pocket.
- And then, wouldn't you know it, the website just completely froze. Classic. I sat there hitting refresh like a madman for what felt like ages.
After what seemed like an eternity of digital battle, I finally broke through. And guess what? All the really good seats were either snapped up or priced so high you'd think they came with a personal meet-and-greet. I ended up grabbing something way up in the rafters, but hey, I was in, right? That's what I kept telling myself anyway.
The Actual Bridgeport Pilgrimage
So, tickets were secured (kind of), and then I had to figure out the whole Bridgeport part. I'm not from that neck of the woods, you see. I decided I'd make a whole weekend out of it. Went online and booked a motel. The pictures looked okay, but "charming" wasn't exactly the word I'd use when I finally laid eyes on the place. Still, it was a spot to crash. Or so I hoped.
The drive up there was… something else. Let's just say my trusty old car decided to throw a massive tantrum about halfway there. Right in the middle of nowhere, of course. I had to call for a tow truck, waited around for what felt like forever, and then shelled out a small fortune to get it just barely patched up enough to limp the rest of the way into Bridgeport. By the time I finally checked into my less-than-"charming" motel, I was already completely worn out and a good bit poorer.
And that motel? Oh, man. The walls were so thin. I swear I could hear the person in the next room breathing, let alone snoring, which they did, louder than any opening act I've ever heard. And the "complimentary continental breakfast" they advertised? It turned out to be a pretty sad, stale bagel and some coffee that tasted mostly of disappointment. I clearly remember thinking, this show better be the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life to make up for all this hassle.
The Main Event... and The Journey Home
The show itself? Yeah, Kevin Hart was funny. From what I could make out from my seat up in the gods, anyway. But to be totally honest, by that point, the whole massive effort and string of bad luck to even get there had kind of dulled the excitement. I was just plain tired.
The real cherry on top? Driving back home, my car, the one that was supposedly "patched up," started making a whole new set of ominous, weird noises. I had to drive incredibly slow, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles the entire way. I got home feeling like I'd just completed some kind of grueling endurance test I never actually signed up for.
So, my "Kevin Hart Bridgeport CT" practice, as I look back on it? It was a serious practice in developing patience, a hard-learned lesson in how things rarely go exactly according to plan, and a very stark reminder that sometimes the journey itself is just… well, a bit of a mess. Would I go through all that again? You can ask me again after my car is properly fixed and my bank account has had some time to recover. Maybe then.
