I had been waiting for this moment for weeks. My heart was racing, my hands were shaking and I slowly watched the countdown clock tick down.
Second by second.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
I was going to buy Ed Sheeran tickets.
Flashback a couple weeks, and I’m watching The Ellen DeGeneres Show. When Ed, that angelic-voiced European, announced his North American Tour, I was on cloud nine. I smiled. I danced. I googled tour dates.
And I decided right then that I was going to get those tickets if it was the last thing I did.
I had already missed the presale tickets because of an eye doctor appointment that went longer than expected, but I was determined. This was my time. This was my moment.
The clock ticked down… 5 seconds… 4 seconds… 3… 2… 1…
I searched for tickets at the instant I could… and got two in the 10th row! I was elated. I was in shock. I cheered! I was going to see Ed Sheeran in concert, close enough to see the sweat on his ginger brow. This was a miracle—imagine how many hundreds of Sheerios just like me were waiting in anticipation for these tickets, and I got them! I went to my cart to check out, giddy as a senior on chicken nugget night in Aramark… and I saw two of the most horrifying sights I had ever before witnessed in my 20 young years of life.
The first was the Mac Spinning Rainbow Beachball of Death. It is equivalent to the hourglass symbol that shows up on PC’s when they are loading, and both are about as pleasant as being followed by a hooded figure in a dark alley.
But there was still hope. There was still hope that the page would load, just like there would be hope that the hooded stranger was simply a friendly guy headed in the same direction.
But then, the error message popped up, informing me that Corban’s Internet had tragically crashed. And I knew that all hope was lost.
I spent the next two hours of my life (don’t judge) refreshing the page, hoping that there were seats available somewhere other than the 300 Level, nosebleed, can’t-even-see-what-Ed-Sheeran-looks-like section.
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, a girl named Jordan (not me) won front-row seat tickets on Live 95.5 about a week later. I heard the broadcaster say, “Congratulations, Jorda(i)n, you’re going to see Ed Sheeran!” And my heart broke just a little bit more.
This may come as a surprise to you, but I’m still a little bitter about not getting those tickets. Life has gone on, though, since that tragic day in late February, and I’m a survivor. The hooded stranger may have taken my tickets, but he did not take my dignity.
As a closing note, I want to mention that my birthday is May 18. If someone wants to find me tickets… I would be as giddy as a newly engaged, newly employed senior on chicken nugget night. Or as a fangirl that just got Ed Sheeran concert tickets.