By Debra Houston, contributing columnist | My husband called from work. “Get tickets for Alan Jackson. He’s playing the Infinite Energy Arena in Duluth on the 28th.” He’s our favorite country musician.
He grew up in Newnan south of Atlanta, with loving, decent parents, a family of four daughters and a son. His dad turned a toolshed into a house. Alan slept in the hall.
I grew up in Lawrenceville, north of Atlanta, with loving, decent parents, a family of three sons and a daughter. We lived in a wood-frame house with three bedrooms. I shared a room with my little brother until I was 12.
So I hasten to the Infinite Energy Arena website. I stay on that website until I’m ready to order. Then I’m switched over to OnlineCityTickets.com.
I choose seats five rows from the stage. I buy two tickets, $150 each plus an added $100 in fees. I know this company is a pre-sale business, but I found them on the Arena site, right? So it’s okay, right? They’ll charge a little more given that it’s a presale.
The total comes to $400. Before sending the e-tickets, a note pops up that says I should ignore the price printed on the tickets. When I receive the tickets, I see why. The real price is about $88 a seat, fees included, and totaling $176 for two.
Online charged me $224 more than the marketplace. I shoot off an email accusing the company of “highway robbery.” They refer me to a customer rep.
The rep sounds robotic as he speaks over me. Paraphrasing — “We’re in the marketing business. Demand determines price.” Capitalism, huh? American capitalism should always behave in good faith.
If I had Googled Online City Tickets, I would’ve found customer complaints lodged against them spanning various websites, including the Better Business Bureau. But I didn’t suspect anything because I went through the Arena site. I don’t even know if arenaduluth.com is the same as Infinite Energy Arena! It’s impossible to figure out anything on the Internet anymore.
If the tickets themselves are legitimate, I’ll be near the stage. Given that our lives often parallel, I believe Alan Jackson would be angry at Online for ripping me, his fan, off. I can imagine him weaving a song in his wry manner about a country girl who still believes in a trustworthy world where everyone is kind and true.
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