Snuffy called up Buggy Buttons with exciting news. After all the setbacks, Buggy was definitely in need of some good news.
“I did it,” Snuffy said, practically giggling with exhilaration.
“Did what?” Buggy was in his pajamas, running around the kitchen cooking chicken noodle soup and boiling honey lemon tea.
“I can’t believe I did it, but I did it.”
“Spit it out already. I’m busy over here. Mittens has a cold.”
Mittens looked up at the clown from his doggy bed, a thermometer sticking out of his jowls and a hot-water bottle resting on his head.
“Erfff…,” the bulldog said.
“We’re sold out,” Snuffy said. “Can you believe it?”
“You sold all the tickets?”
“Yeah. Every single one. We’re going to have a full house.”
“And you sold them for a thousand dollars each, right? Every single one?”
“Yeah, every one.”
“What about those tickets you sold for cheap? Did you get those back?”
“Not all of them,” Snuffy said. “But it’s okay. I printed up new tickets. Anyone who shows up with the old ones can be turned away.”
Buggy took the thermometer out of Mittens’s jowls and frowned at the results. “Not bad, Snuffy. I have to say I’m a little surprised you pulled it off. How on earth did you do it?”
“Well, it wasn’t easy at first,” Snuffy said. “I originally couldn’t sell any tickets at the thousand-dollar price. Nobody was biting. I tried promoting the heck out of the show. I got all my guys spreading word of mouth on the street. But still no sales. Everyone said they’d love to see Bobby Goldstein live, but they all thought it was too expensive.”
“So how’d you work it out?”
“I offered everyone a money-back guarantee. I told them it would be the best show they’ve ever seen or they’d get their money back. Once I promised that, nobody hesitated. I went through all the tickets in forty-eight hours.”
Buggy dropped the thermometer on the floor. “Tell me you didn’t really promise them that.”
“Yeah,” Snuffy said, not picking up on the angry tone in Buggy’s voice. “I told them they’d agree that it was completely worth the thousand-dollar ticket price or they’d get a full refund. It was enough to sell even the most jaded comedy fan.”
“You idiot…” Buggy said. “We never give refunds. What do you think this is, a Walmart? The only reason anybody bought tickets from you is because they plan to get their money back after the show, whether they liked it or not. Basically, you just gave away all the tickets for free.”
“Not if it’s a good show,” Snuffy said. “They can’t get their money back if they like the show.”
“And how are we going to prove whether they liked the show or not?”
“If they laugh,” Snuffy said. “They can’t complain if they laugh through the show. And this is Bobby Goldstein. There’s no way they’re not going to laugh at Bobby Goldstein.”
“You don’t get it, Snuff. Bobby Goldstein’s not that funny. He never was. People only want to see him because he’s a legend. Our goal was to sell tickets, not guarantee a good show.”
“Well, you never told me that.”
“It should’ve been obvious. How long have you been working in this business, anyway? The goal is always to sell tickets first and put on a good show second.”
“Well, I think everyone’s going to love Bobby Goldstein. I doubt anyone’s going to ask for a refund at all.”
“Yeah, you would…”
Buggy hung up the phone and filled Mittens’s bowl with hot chicken soup. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Before he didn’t care if Bobby Goldstein bombed, but now the comedian had to blow everyone away. If Bobby wasn’t the funniest comic ever to perform in Little Bigtop, it was going to be Buggy’s head.