The Dream that Slipped Through Our Fingers

For as long as I have known my husband, he has dreamed of seeing Paul McCartney. We watched every one of Paul's appearances. We watched him on numerous talk shows and even read the behind-the-scenes story of his big appearance with James Cordon during which the talk show host actually drove the former Beatle to his childhood home.

Bill watched wide-eyed as Cordon was called to the stage to take part in a performance of "Hey Jude," a song that always sparks emotion in my tender-hearted hubby. "Oh my God! Imagine getting called to that stage."

On February 24, we excitedly hit the purchase button on tickets to see Sir Paul on May 13 at SoFi Stadium. We were in section 522, row nine, seats one, two and three. This was going to be our son's first concert.

"Just know that I am going to be sobbing all the way through 'Hey Jude'" Bill told me the night we made the purchase.

Flash forward to May 5. Ticketmaster informed us we would not be going.

Here's the backstory: 

Late on Sunday April 24 Bill and I got into a joyful discussion about the tickets. Where will we park, I asked. He wasn't sure. So, he thought he should check on that and on the tickets. Within seconds, he jumped. "NO!" he yelled. "Our tickets were stolen." We have no idea how thieves were able to access our account. But someone had gotten into our Ticketmaster account and easily transferred the tickets where they were quickly sold. 

We raced to try and find our way back to the concert. After all this was Paul McCartney. One of the greatest and most influential singers, song writers and (we believe) poets of our time. It took a day and a half just to find a number for the Ticketmaster Fraud Division. When we finally got the number, it would take upwards of an hour and a half to get ahold of anyone. I say an hour and a half because at exactly 90 minutes, the phone system automatically kicks you over to voicemail. Throughout the wait for a representative, a recorded message encourages callers to click 2 to leave a voicemail. We left many. None were ever returned. Instead, we hung in there listening to the message and the generic and repetitive hold music for an hour and a half at a time.  

All of the customer service representatives were very polite. And for a while there, two of them assured us that it did indeed appear as if they had gotten us replacement tickets. "It looks like they have got you tickets," one of them told my husband as I listened in. "You'll probably get an email tomorrow."

That email never came.

My husband called back. "Don't worry," another rep told my husband adding that they would get it done; That it shouldn't be a problem and that the tickets would likely come to us closer to the time of the concert. We left it alone for a few days, but it was never far from our thoughts. Finally, an email came on May 5th hours after we spent three hours trying to contact their reps again. "We've been trying to reach you ..." the email read. This was news. We'd not heard from them. But it directed us right back to the same Fraud Division phone number. This time we waited about an hour before someone answered.

"Looking at the notes on the file, we are unable to replace the tickets," the Ticketmaster representative told my husband. He buried his face in his hands. "We're just not able to pull any so we have to give you your money back," she added.

It had already been a very tough week. Her words cut to the bone. As we sank into sadness, echoes of the woman apologizing and wishing us a good rest of the evening sounded hollow and scripted. Bill hesitantly hung up and sat in silence.

Are we done? 

There are always resale tickets, what we used to call "scalping." There are tickets available. But we saved and scrimped to buy the first ones. While we can use the money being refunded, we will pay more for seats that are farther away. Add to this that we have no clear clue when our money will be refunded, and it looks likely that we are out of luck.

The very least we can do is warn others: Check on the E-tickets regularly. Don't assume they will be there. BUY THE INSURANCE! I'm not 100 percent sure that we would have gotten offered our money back had it not been for that. And if you haven't already done so, freshen up your password.

This is so absolutely crushing. For me, it's not only a loss of opportunity to see a great performer, but it is also profoundly saddening to see my husband so crushed. And it is stunning that the juggernaut that is Ticketmaster presents itself as so helpless. While thieves made victims of us, it feels like Ticketmaster made fools of us.

Maybe this is not the end of the story. Maybe we can find the strength to keep trying. But the clock is ticking. 

I can't even imagine the countless other nameless and faceless people who have fallen victim to this terrible ticketing system. Just know that if I could, I would climb to a high point and scream out the stories. 

I am angry.

Caught Between Thieves and Ticketmaster, Will We Ever See Sir Paul Perform?

     The change in him was shocking.

On a recent Sunday, I had started a joke with my husband about knocking on wood so that I would not mess something up when he yelled. “No! No!" He pointed a finger at me. I froze. I stared at him. His fist was balled up. His jaw was clenched tight. Nearly silent for a full beat, I thought I had angered him. “What?” I asked hesitantly.

“Our Paul McCartney tickets were stolen,” he said.

His words didn’t make sense. Stolen? When? By whom? I wanted to scream but I just sat frozen. The record of it was still sitting in the Ticketmaster site. On April 9th, someone accessed my husband’s account and transferred the tickets to another account where they were (I can only assume) gladly accepted. My husband frantically tried to find a way to retrieve them. He frantically searched for recourse. Almost immediately, we started to find barriers.

It was 10 p.m. on Sunday April 24. The clock was ticking. As of today, we have roughly three weeks to get the tickets back.

This is not a story of loss. Not yet anyway. But we’re terrified, or more specifically, I’m terrified that possibly our last chance to see this great musician and poet perform has been ripped out of our hands. We spent more than we could afford to see Sir Paul; Nearly $1,000 between the price for the three tickets and added fees, including parking at SoFi in Inglwood. But we were so excited.

This was not going to be an ordinary concert for us. Like so many fans of great music, my husband Bill idolizes the Beatles. He has as much Beatle music as we’ve been able to afford. The Beatles channel is programmed into our Sirius XM. When he is stressed or struggling, he opens his phone to play “Hey Jude.” When he purchased the tickets, he turned to me and said, “Let’s just be clear that I will probably be sobbing through ‘Hey Jude’ … and maybe through the whole concert.’”

It was the most joyous feeling for him, for us. He would finally see one of his musical idols perform after all these years and despite all the poverty that prevented us from going in years past. We have slowly crept back toward financial security, but it’s been a hard and turbulent journey to now.

We were print journalists for many years and thus not very well paid. My husband and I moved out together as 20-year-olds, living hand to mouth, just happy to be in the business. Surely, we thought, we would pay our dues and move up the ladder. We’d earn better pay and build a life.

In many ways, we achieved our goals. We earned positions we were aiming for. My husband became an editor while I held a reporting position. Yet somehow, we began to slide backwards. We saw rents rising faster while our incomes began to stagnate. I realized one day that many of us were no longer getting annual reviews. Those came with pay raises.

Bill and I held off having a wedding for many years because we could not afford it. When the opportunity came to be married in a beautiful, memorable wedding, it was offered free through Knott’s Berry Farm, who was promoting the newly opened Ghost Rider. We married on a roller coaster. Our wedding was free and memorable.

Then we held off having children. Journalism was beginning to sputter. We feared for our jobs. Finally, when I became older, I realized it was almost too late and we decided to have a child. Soon after that, my birthing days were over. We’re blessed to have our son.

Soon, however, the shrinking of the newsrooms began to accelerate. First, I lost my job. Then I found another one far away. Then I found another closer to home. Bill’s job held steady, until it didn’t. He was laid off as technology took his job. I was then earning well but working at a startup. My husband began to freelance as he struggled to find permanent work. 

He applied everywhere. I continued working, until one day, the startups' owners announced they were selling the company. I, and 95 percent of the company, was let go. Bills and I were out of work. We prepared to lose the apartment until Bill’s parents stepped in.

This all took place over much of my son’s young life. While we indulge him more now, he grew used to hearing, “We have money but not for that …” All in an effort not to scare him about our situation. We slowly rebuilt.

It’s not like we haven’t ever had an opportunity to enjoy a concert or music despite our struggles. When you’re that broke you get creative. We borrowed money from a co-worker to see John Fogerty at the House of Blues in Hollywood. We literally bled for tickets to Tom Petty. The local blood bank was giving out lawn tickets at Irvine Meadows. And we won tickets for a large Alt Band music festival featuring Korn at Glen Helen through KROQ.

Bill volunteered to review and write about several concerts including Lenny Kravitz, The Offspring, Vince Gill and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy (the latter at the Los Angeles County Fair.) Working for the privilege. I was also fortunate enough to have briefly been an usherette at Anaheim Stadium when U2 performed there for their Zooropa Tour.

Over the years, as our paychecks faded to zero, the price of concert tickets skyrocketed. And I watched musicians I’ve waited for years to see slowly disappear or stop performing.

I never got to see Tina Turner. We lost a chance to see Queen. And Nirvana … don’t get me started. I had longed to see Foo Fighters for many years only to mourn the recent loss of the band’s beloved drummer Taylor Hawkins. Will they ever perform again?

What are the chances we will see Paul McCartney play? When you face the chance of losing your concert tickets you begin to believe that you won't unless he lives forever and tours just as long.

These days we are both finally working at jobs that pay decently. My husband has stable work. I am a substitute teacher working toward full-time employment. We are finally in recovery. But now this?

My husband has reached out to Ticketmaster in an attempt to get the tickets back. The only way to contact Ticketmaster is through email in a system that sadly makes the user feel like they are being told, “Don’t call us. We’ll call you.” They responded with a link to their FAQ. If that did not answer our question, we were to get in touch with them within a day or two. Bill responded immediately. Monday afternoon, he called Ticketmaster’s fraud unit. They encourage people to leave a voice message. But we are frantic. He hung on. After 90 minutes on hold, the system forced him to leave a message anyway. Will they get in touch with us in time?

We’ve since learned it can take days or more than a week. Do we have that time? What is happening to our seats in the meantime? Our tickets?

Sunday night into Monday morning, I dreamt horrible dreams about us being scammed. The dream turned violent. I don’t know why. I don’t remember the whole dream, thankfully. But I woke up puffy eyed and with a wet pillow.

Why did these people make victims out of us? How can people be so cruel?