My husband and I are excited to have gotten tickets to a massive concert taking place in our city. The artist is a global megastar, and the concert is taking place in the biggest sports stadium in our city. The only issue is that my husband has to work that day, but no big deal, we can be in the stadium by 6.30 pm; we can catch most of the second support act and be well in time for the main artist taking to the stage at 8 pm. We have seated tickets in one of the best areas, so no issue with losing our view due to lateness.
The day arrives, and we excitedly take our seats. It’s pretty clear where we are sitting; the sections and rows are clearly marked, and although there are still a lot of empty seats around the stadium at this point – probably a lot of folk only coming for the main act later – our section is pretty full, making the two empty seats in our row look pretty prominent. We double-check our tickets, and these are indeed our seats.
As soon as we get seated, however, I notice that the two young women next to us are giving us very strange looks. They then turn to the people behind, and both parties seem to be getting quite angry – but in a silent, British way, with lots of gestures and tutting in our direction.
I’m feeling quite uncomfortable, but eventually the woman next to me leans over:
Woman: “These aren’t your seats. You can’t just arrive now and sit there.”
Me: “Oh gosh, I thought I’d checked properly. Let me look again.”
Woman: “Another couple has been sitting here all afternoon. They just went to get drinks. We’ve all been chatting and getting on well. You can’t take their seats.”
Me: “Hang on. This is right. Section J, row M, seats 21-22.” *Looking around.* “Yes, this is correct.”
At this point, I’m starting to panic, thinking that the seats have somehow been double-booked, but the woman then says.
Woman: “No. This is section K. You’re in the wrong seats.”
Me: “Ummm…”
I look around again, at the enormous SECTION J sign directly in front of us, as well as the sign hanging above the stairwell we’ve just come from. I also look at the sign for section K in the next block, clearly divided by a wide aisle and stairs.
Woman: “I know it looks like this should be section J, but the steward told us that it is K. You need to go to your own seats.”
Me: “This doesn’t seem right. I’ll go talk to a steward.”
We go up the stairs and find a steward. I ask him if this is section J. He looks at the clear signage, then back at me as if I’m the dumbest person on the planet, before affirming that it is. We go back to our seats and confirm that we are definitely correct, and it seems that, unfortunately, these women, as well as the couple who had been sitting in our seats, were the ones in the wrong section. I suggest they talk to a steward to sort it out.
Suddenly, the woman starts screaming at us:
Woman: “I’ve been sitting here all day, which makes this my seat. It’s a better view than those ones over there. I was told this was right, and I’m not moving.”
At this point, the people behind, who had been backing her up, realised that she was most definitely in the wrong and withdrew from the conversation.
Woman: “It was him. He told me this was section K.”
I point to a very young and clearly terrified-looking steward. This is clearly his first gig in every sense of the word.
I go to that steward and tell him that we have a problem with people seemingly in the wrong seats and that there appears to have been some confusion as they were directed there by him. He stammers at me that maybe he got confused earlier, but he knows now that this is section J.
I suggest he come to the seats with me to explain to the other women, but he looks like he’d rather face a root canal without anaesthesia and refuses, and tells me they can just look at their tickets and figure it out.
So I go back to the other steward and explain the situation, noting that I’ve already missed most of the support act on stage due to this drama; I don’t want the people who were in our seats to come back and add to the problem and I don’t want my evening ruined my someone yelling at me when I’ve waited years to see the main artist live.
He is sympathetic but says he cannot leave his post at the stairs and also reiterates that all the other women have to do is look at their tickets and the signs, and they will realise they are in the wrong place.
If only it were that simple!
When I get back to the seats, the woman is full-on yelling at my husband, who is doing his best to ignore her, by saying that we know our seats are correct and she needs to sort herself out. At this point, I’m almost considering leaving – as much as I want to see the concert, I just can’t deal with this situation.
As the yelling gets louder, the stewards have started to realise what’s going on and send security to intervene. They try to reason with the women – or at least the one doing all the yelling. Her friend is conspicuously silent through all of this and points out that while it’s clear she was advised wrongly, she needs to accept all the evidence that they are in the wrong seats and need to move before the rightful ticket holders arrive.
She looks like she’s finally defeated and is about to be led away when suddenly I’m cold and wet. I realise she has dumped an entire pint of beer over my head.
Woman: “It’s all your fault. You could have just gone to sit somewhere else, but you made this happen to me.”
I’m upset and uncomfortable, but at least I’m cheered up by the sight of her being escorted out of the stadium and being told she is no longer able to use her ticket for any seat, and will not be seeing the concert tonight. Her friend is offered the opportunity to stay on her own, which she gratefully accepts and scurries off to section K.
The concert was amazing, even if I smelled of beer all night. Also, the other people never came back to these seats after getting their drinks. I wonder if they were headed off, or if they realised the mistake and went to the correct seats.
