This is not a blog post. This is a ticket listing -- for this Friday’s Sweet 16 games at the Wells Fargo Center. Two* tickets, $199 each, Section 220. The only problem is (and this is sort of a major problem) that the seats are not together. They are directly in front and in back of each other, in Rows 5 and 6, a major detail that was not explained to me when I purchased them from a stupid, stupid, stupid ticket website, VividSeats.com
See what had happened was: last Sunday afternoon, before the brackets were announced, I went on StubHub to see what kind of tix were available for the East Regional. I don't normally pay for tickets, what, with being a major local celebrity and all, but figured I'd splash a little cash for this special occasion. When I noticed that there were bonkers fees on StubHub, a friend suggested I try one of their stupid competitors, because maybe they’d be offering sweeter, stupid deals. So bing bang boom, I went to VividSeats.com (a real website) to find two tickets that wouldn’t result in me getting a divorce.
After selecting from the drop down menu that I was in fact looking for two tickets, as in 2, as in two tickets TOGETHER, I found a “pair” in section 220 Row 5/6. I didn’t think much of the Row 5/6 thing (“I guess the seller has tickets in both rows? And I'll get to choose?”). But no, after I entered my credit card information, or should I say my wife’s credit card information, and clicked “purchase now” … there it was, in all its glory, in the smallest of small fonts …
Piggyback seats?
There’s a thing called piggyback seats?
Why would anyone ever spend american currency on piggyback seats?
ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT I JUST SPENT FIVE HUNDRED SIXTY TWO DOLLARS AND FORTY FIVE CENTS (of my wife’s money!) ON PIGGYBACK SEEPS?
Instantly my body temperature soared. Like trying to parallel park during rush hour with six cars waiting behind you. Sweat started pouring down from my shins. I didn’t even know sweat could pour from your shins. I took my pants off immediately, then my shirt, and went back to Vivid’s homepage looking for something, ANYTHING, that could cancel this order.
I quickly found the Help Center (HELL OF A NAME FOR A CENTER, VIVID SEATS DOT COM, HELL OF A NAME) and logged into one of their live chat rooms. I hate those things by the way, even though they're secretly so erotic. Nothing happened in that chat room, just like every other chat room I’ve ever been in. It just said “waiting” in the top left corner the whole time with stupid blinking dots after the “waiting” … teasing me into thinking that something might actually happen.
Then I sent an email to Vivid’s customer service department. I’m not sure why I thought that would help, but I at least wanted DOCUMENTATION that I tried to do something, ANYTHING, to STOP THE FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR BLEEDING. Then finally, I found a goddamn phone number and dialed those numbers faster than a Jewish woman can file for divorce.
Of course, I wasn’t connected to a person. Noooooooo, why would I expect to be connected to a person? It’s not like I just spent FIVE HUNDO on a couple of piggybackers. I was instead played a recording that told me that Vivid customers who had purchased tickets to events that were to take place in the next 24 hours took priority. And that all others should email their concerns and Vivid will be in touch in one business day.
DID THAT ALREADY, VIV.
DID THAT.
Then I called back, this time using the tried and true method of pretending that I wanted to purchase something from the main menu. (Great move by the way. If you’ve never done it, do it. Especially when you call see oh emm see ay ess tee.) I was immediately connected to a dude named Todd. Surely Todd could help me.
He couldn't.
Instead, Todd connected me to a person in sales, who I'm pretty sure was also named Todd. I was very excited to speak to him.
Hey Todd. What’s up, man? Todd Bridges. Love that guy. Look, I accidentally just spent $500 on piggybackers. I'd like to cancel them please.
“Oh yeah, I see that, Mr. Monsky. But unfortunately all sales are final.”
Oh I understand that, Todd. I totally understand that. By the way, call me Evan. Mr. Monsky was my grandfather’s name. He’s dead. Look, I don't know what I’m doing on your website. I don’t know what I’m doing on any website. I shop at Marshall’s, Todd. Have you ever been to Marshall’s. I own three pairs of Dallas Mavericks sweatpants. Can we maybe just cancel the order completely and then I can order a different pair of tickets from you guys? Like, together. I bought these tickets four minutes ago. Did you know that humans can sweat out of their shins, Todd? Did you know that?
“Yeah Evan, see the thing is …”
My name is Mr. Monsky.
“Sorry, Mr. Monsky. See the thing is, we’re a third party vendor. And blah blah blibbity blah.”
Todd then went on to say that the seller had already accepted the purchase online and in order to cancel the tickets, he’d have to contact the seller and ask him to refund the money. So I was like Ooooookkkkkaaaaayyyyyyyyy. Can we do that please?
And Todd was all, “Well, we sort of have this agreement with our clients that all sales are final. So that’d be a violation of our--”
DOOD. Can you just call the guy and tell him that there is a human being out there who made a mistake and would love to, LOVE TO, purchase other tickets from him. Any other tickets. As long as they’re together. And that this person would also like to stay married?
Todd said he would put in a request and they would get back to me in 24 hours. He even took my phone number. Twenty four hours later, I received an email from Vivid saying that my tickets were shipped and that they’d love for me to fill out a survey telling them about my experience.
SO HERE’S YOUR SURVEY, VIVIAN!
Look, I’m not the type of guy who sends food back at restaurants. I’m not even the type of guy uses a fork at restaurants. But this is just dumb. Listen to your customers, Vivid, and try to help them out. You don’t think refunding me $500 is better than this sh***y, sh***y, sh***y press you’re getting right now? [Editor's note: like 6 people are reading this, Ev.] I have two thousand Twitter followers! And at least 47 of them are real!
I ended up going back to Vivid five minutes later and spending ANOTHER five hundo on two more tickets (together), but to be honest, I don’t even understand how sites like StubHub and Vivid exist. The face value on these tickets is $100. One hundred dollars. Which is A LOT of money for nose-bleeders in general. And yet, the cheapest tickets for the game right now on StubHub (which are mine, I listed them this morning) are listed at $199. After fees and all that jazz, they’ll probably end up costing $250. I’ll get $179. So I’m losing about $80 on each ticket. You could buy a lot of Vivid videos for that money.
So what now? I dunno. Buy my tickets? Email me on the side and maybe we can work out a deal for less that two hunny?
Like I said, this is ultimately not a blog post. Or a rant about the NCAA ripping off its fans and athletes. Or an op-ed piece about how it’s impossible to afford to take your family of four to a live sporting event. This is simply a ploy to sell my tickets to someone who might enjoy going to the games with a friend who will sit directly in front of (or in back) of them (which is not horrible!).
Two tickets.
That are in separate rows, directly in front of and behind each other.
For way too much money than anyone should ever spend on tickets.
UNC VS. INDIANA BY THE WAY.
TWO STORIED PROGRAMS.
AND WISCO VS. NOTRE DAME.
BOOOOOOOOOO, NOTRE DAME!!!
THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO BOO NOTRE DAME!
WITH OTHER PHILADELPHIANS.
AND INDIANA!!!
BOO PEOPLE!
BUY TICKETS!
ACT NOW!
BUY! BUY! BUY!