Dating : Selling Concert Tickets in D.C. Helped Me Feel Safer and Happier Here

Cancelling out fear and anxiety by being generous and kind

This past week I was supposed to go see Bonobo, one of my favorite DJs in the world.

I bought two tickets ahead of time, feeling optimistic that one of my friends might be able to go, and carefully budgeted the purchase into my monthly expenses. I wrote the concert date on my Outlook calendar at work so I’d know a cathartic night of dancing to EDM was in my future after surviving a busy day in the office.

But as I reached out and asked different friends who love to go dancing and enjoy electronica as much as I do, it became clear no one was able to make it. And though I drank a lot of coffee, by 4 p.m. the day of the show I realized if I didn’t stay home that night I’d never make it through a bunch of meetings at my job the next day.

There was the option of just selling one of the tickets and going by myself, but the last time I attended a show alone, I almost got mugged on my way home, mainly because I made the decision to take the bus and walk rather than pay Uber’s surging prices. I also had a bad experience when I first moved to Washington, D.C., when I went to see a band I loved by myself and a man tried to physically drag me through a club to kiss me, against my will. The scariest part was no one tried to stop him and I had to literally wrench my arm out of my socket to get away from him.

Though I hate to admit it, sometimes I’m not as brave as I want to be, as an independent woman who loves this city like crazy. Sometimes I’m scared of doing basic things alone. I was still too shaken by my almost-assault experiences to brave another show by myself.

Selling tickets to concerts is pretty easy in this day and age, where you can make an announcement by posting in the Facebook Event and get a bunch of responses. Before I knew it, I had two different guys — one desperate to purchase a ticket for his girlfriend and another man who earnestly kept commenting on my post — sending me direct messages letting me know they wanted them. After I cyber-stalked them to make sure they weren’t bots or crazy people, I agreed to let them buy the tickets, at face value. I could have really jacked up the price of the tickets, especially within hours of a show featuring a much-sought out DJ, and made a dent in my divorce debt, but I didn’t feel like scalping them.

Right now in D.C. and everywhere else, we’re trying not to be spurred by fear and building walls around each other every day, largely because of the psychotic man running our country … into the ground, and far away from any remaining democracy. He makes us feel more and more scared and defeated until we aren’t sure how to act anymore. I can’t stand him, and I’ve decided to cancel out the hate he creates by performing random acts of kindness. I do it in little ways, like catching someone’s eye when I’m walking down the street and giving them a bright smile, and feeling them smile back. I make small talk with strangers to hopefully help us feel more connected. I fight for gender equality at my job every day. I give money to causes I care about. There are many other things I need to start doing, like volunteering more often, but I’m working on the every day things, too.

I wanted to sell my concert tickets at face value because I’m tired of making people feel like they have to survive just to stay sane, whether that’s affording things they’re passionate about or just looking for a moment of community at an amazing show.

As it turned out, I couldn’t digitally transfer these tickets to these guys because I could only retrieve them through will call, which meant I’d have to physically hand over the tickets to them. To make sure I got to bed before midnight, I told them to meet me at the club at 10 p.m., so I could get them for us and hand them over to them.

When I got there, I walked up to a young white couple who looked like they were in their twenties and another younger African-American guy. I recognized their faces from social media and we all introduced each other. I apologized we had to wait for half an hour (the club didn’t open until 10:30 p.m.) for me to get the tickets, something I hadn’t known ahead of time. They suggested we all go across the street to get a drink. I was tired, but I was also out and about, and they all seemed really nice. Why not?

We walked over to Solly’s and grabbed a few beers (with a vodka and soda for me, because I am a lady who loves her cocktails, even in dive bars), eventually exchanging where we worked and how it was going at our jobs, something that is almost common parlance for a few generations of people living in our nation’s capital and still recovering from the most devastating election in history. I revealed I had left government to work for a non-profit and the two guys who bought my tickets had also worked for different government agencies.

“It’s funny, we’re all in transition, either surviving our jobs, leaving our jobs or launching our own things,” we said.

I thought about how many smart, talented people had abandoned the Trump Administration because they just couldn’t take the chaos, the dismantling of good programs that had changed lives, the incompetence and greed of political appointees. I also dreamed a little about the incredible ideas that were being born through new projects and non profits and start-ups, because these people had left to do other things.

I told them about my blog, Bride in Reverse, and how much I was writing now. I shared how starting over had inspired it. I made jokes about being older and unable to stay out late for the show that night. As we talked, one of the guys looked at me with respect.

“You sound like you live a really cool life.”

I smiled and felt better, braver, about scrapping an evening of dancing for what had turned out to be some happenstance humanity and a wonderful conversation with some good people in my city.

We left the bar and stood in line for a few minutes and I eventually got them their tickets. I told them to have an amazing night. I had seen Bonobo last year and knew it was a life-changing experience.

“We will. Thank you so much!”

It was only a little after 11 p.m. I started walking down U Street, past a crowd of junkies, past the clubs that had changed a few times into different things since I had moved to D.C. As I made my way home, I saw people out having a great time, feeling alive and happy. I felt that way, too.