It was chilly, the sky was threatening rain, and hundreds of Chicago's most enthusiastic Coldplay fans were seriously displeased. They'd been waiting for hours, some since the night before, to score tickets to a rare club performance by one of the world's most popular bands.
Tickets were to go on sale at noon at the Metro, a 1,200-person Wrigleyville venue. It was now 12:05 pm, and David-James Figueroa, the Metro's head of security, emerged from the ticket office. "I can take the first 10 people," he said. "Get your cash out." The chosen ones trudged into the office to buy their two-ticket limit. A few minutes later, they reappeared, waving their tickets above their heads before stowing them in wallets, bags, backpacks.
After the first 10, there was another wait, and then Figueroa reappeared. "I've got one more ticket, guys. One more." That made 21 tickets total; the rest had gone instantaneously, either through authorized brokers or worse, according to Figueroa.
A groan went up from the front of the line, and, as word trickled back, shouts rose from the crowd. "What?!" "How many tickets did they sell us?!" "Twenty-one tickets? That's it?!"
Christopher Crompton, 23, of Chicago, who was first in line and got a ticket, said before the window opened: "I figure this could either be the best date of all time. … Or it could be a great way to put a dent in the old Visa card bill."
Source: Chicago Tribune
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