A riff on “the suffering of cappucino” described in One City. A riff on greed, on anger, on consumer frustration. And how every little thing is on the path. Damn it.
On Thursday night, I attended the PLUG Independent Music Awards. I really, really wanted to go because I am a huge fan of two of the performers, Dizzee Rascal and Nick Cave. I went. The awards kinda sucked; the performances were mighty fine. (You can read my review on http://scordato.wordpress.com)

But to go, I needed a ticket, and the evil Ticketmaster had nearly denied me the privilege and the purchase.
Ticketmaster has bedeviled me for decades. Since Cheap Trick, the Who, and R.E.M. Since the age of 13.
1) The Ticketmaster system is designed to heighten desire by absurdly restricting supply. Holding out the promise that a stadium-full of “tickets go on sale” and then selling enormous blocks of those tickets not to pathetically eager fans dialing in one by one, but to “travel clubs” and ticket brokers, Ticketmaster is an exploitative monopoly and always has been. (History: Check out Pearl Jam’s efforts, Congressional hearings, etc.)
2) The system makes no pretense of  customer satisfaction. Their return policy is “no, not ever.” There can be no complaints. There is no appeal, no matter how poorly the technology performs. I got war stories. . . .
Anyway, I had successfully purchased tix to the PLUG Awards, online. So had my husband. Ticket limit was two tix, one person.
The event sold out in under 6 minutes. I was filled with glee that my superior timing and internet skills had won me two of the coveted ducats; my husband had been similarly successful. Calls inviting friends were made. Plans were laid.
Then our online account flashed some kind of screw-up. Phone calls revealed that since hubby and I had the same address (but different last names), the system had autocanceled our orders. My head exploded. For some reason, this kind of thing blows my mind up every time. Talk about the arising of anger. Ticketmaster ticks it off without fail. For some reason, that GETS me. Having successfully obtained tickets to an event, only to be told that due to an unknown, arbitrary rule I never knew I infringed, I won’t get what I want. What I thought I had. What I thought I needed.
Well, what I evidently needed was to remember to be grateful to everything. Again.
Who knows what habitual pattern of thought are disrupted by these appearances of the Ticketmaster guru? (that life is just? that rules, when followed, yield predictable results? that “being good” gets you what you want? Not so, Grasshopper.)
Whatever those thought patterns may be, the Ticketmaster guru appears and blows that shit right out of my head. I see how quick the anger happens. I don’t get a chance to examine its arising. I don’t sit with it and breathe. The gaskets blow. Luckily, I’ve not screamed at anyone on the phone; I’ve not acted out over it for a long time. Okay, a little irritation may escape over the phone, but not the big blowup. That just happens inside. And I get to be all “buddhist” about it in the aftermath.
Upshot: After a little juggling of my husband’s account, and because he had ordered mail delivery and I had ordered online, we managed to obtain the tickets we had paid for. We went to the show. It wasn’t that great, or that awful, but that wasn’t the point. I had obtained yet another thing I wanted, or thought I needed. There will be others.
Ah New York, where demand outstrips supply so often, so much more often than in, say Cleveland. I’ll just want some more tickets, to something else, soon. I won’t be able to get them. Looks like I’m currently grateful for the All Points West festival in August, since tickets sold out last week. In minutes.
The Samsara of Ticketmaster. . . .