Nothing Going On Upstairs

I’m checking wristbands at a music festival when a very drunk man comes to the door.

Me: “Sir, can I see your wristband?”

He tries to show me the stamp from a nearby bar.

Me: “Sorry, sir, you need a wristband to get in here.”

Drunk: “I’m upstairs with the band.”

Me: “There is no upstairs here.”

Drunk: “Oh, I should find out where I need to be.”

Me: “You do that, sir.”

Never saw him again.