The other day, I got a ticket. No, it wasn’t a speeding or parking ticket. Or one for not properly placing my trash cans at the curb. I don’t have to do that. I have the joy of an incinerator. I visit it many times a day. My grandfather would be proud. I did not get a ticket to ride.
I was at Lincoln Center for a photo shoot with my wide-angle lens. Before shooting, I went to the Metropolitan Opera House and bought a ticket for “Tosca.” I went to Vivian Beaumont Theater and purchased tickets for “A Few Good Men.” I finished my shopping by entering David Geffen Hall and renewing my New York Philharmonic subscription. I will be attending several concerts.
At David Geffen Hall, the ticket clerk looked up my email address (they did that at the opera house, too) and asked me what shows I wanted. I picked a few and tapped my iPhone to pay. I said, will my tickets be in my account? He said, yes or do you want paper tickets? I thought for a minute and asked which is better. Mind you, I have been a subscriber for about a decade and always had electronic tickets. You know, you download them, save them in your Apple Wallet, and scan them in at the theater.
He then said, “It does not make a difference. Do you like electronic things, or do you prefer paper?” I love electronic stuff. I said, paper. He printed them and stuffed them into an envelope. Keep in mind, at Beaumont and the opera house, they handed me paper tickets immediately. I didn’t get a choice.
As I was thinking about my e v. paper tickets. I was blasted back to the old days. Remember when we used to call Ticketmaster and wait on hold for what seemed like hours for tickets for The Cure, Depeche Mode, Yankee-Red Sox games, and U2? Sure, you do. Eventually you spoke to an agent, gave them your credit card number, and were told they’d mail your tickets. Of course, there was a fee for that – Standard postage or more for FedEx. For Broadway theater, I often went to the box office and got paper tickets.
Then the day came when you walked into the Garden, the Stadium, or the Nederlander. The person at the door tore your ticket, gave you the stub, and you went to your seat. You waited and hopefully made it to the top of the ninth with the Yankees ahead, heard “Enter Sandman,” watched Mariano save the game, and walked to the subway to “New York, New York.” Or you saw Robert Smith come out and sit in the dark while he played for nearly three hours. Fun times.
We are still doing that. But now they scan your phone, and you hope it works. The other day for a Yankees-Red Sox game, I had to scan the ticket many times until I got in. I did. We lost. I was back the next day; we won 16-1. The day we lost, I headed to Radio City Music Hall after the game, scanned my ticket, and suddenly, I was “Up the Junction”—in other words, I saw Squeeze.
To me, it doesn’t matter how I enter the venue. I just wanna be in. But I must admit there is something magical about the paper ticket. I always keep them. I have journals with tickets from my first Yankee games back in the day when number 1, Billy Martin, was managing, and from seeing The Cure in the 80s. And of course, “Rent” with the original cast.
There was something special about looking at that ticket. When I look at them in my Apple Wallet, it is not as special. I am just happy the transfer from AXS or Ticketmaster processed.
Talk to ‘ya after “Tosca.”
