How I tried (and failed) to get Chainsmokers tickets

You’d been waiting anxiously to discover what DJ would be playing Plexapalooza this year.

When word spread that the Chainsmokers were booked, you didn’t believe it until you saw tangible proof: the CAB Facebook Post, which confirmed your dreams.

Your gym playlist undoubtedly contained Roses, Sway, Split (Only U), Habits (Stay High), Kanye, Let You Go, etc., long before you found out that the Chainsmokers were coming to BC. #SELFIE has had a permanent residency in your head since 2014 when it came out, permeating your dreams and thoughts against your volition. A few months later you deleted it off your playlist in a desperate attempt to forget its very existence.

Since the start of winter break you’d been excitedly thinking about Plexapalooza, and the fact that one of your favorite artists would be playing it.

Dillon Francis was good, yes, but the Chainsmokers? This was a very big deal.

The fact that tickets are a mere $30? An even bigger deal.

You determined that this price is considerably cheaper than what one would pay for a Chainsmokers show elsewhere. You excitedly squealed to your friends about how much fun the night would be. However, a lot of your friends seemed indifferent, but after detailing last year’s Plexapalooza, at which you had an incredibly fun experience (one of the best nights of your semester), you eventually convince them to consider buying tickets.

Mid-Christmas break, you begin to peruse online shopping sites, looking for the perfect rave ensemble to wear to the event. It’s not super cheap, but well worth it, so you go ahead and make the purchase (True story: my outfit is currently sitting in my dorm room).

You then tweet at the Chainsmokers and tell them that you can’t wait to see them perform at Boston College.

Finally. The day you’d been waiting for all winter break. January 19, 2016. You wake up at 7:30 a.m. to ensure that you’re on your A-game to purchase a ticket by 8 a.m.

The previous night, you had logged onto your Robsham account to ensure that you remembered your password, and that you could log on sans problem.

You went to sleep with a smile on your face, knowing that you were a dedicated fan all set to purchase a ticket.

By 7:50 am you were logged onto the Robsham site, anxiously waiting for 8 a.m. so that you could finally acquire the golden ticket. It feels as though an eternity transpires as you restlessly await 8 a.m. The time has come. You click onto “Plexapalooza”, but nothing happens.

You try this 20 more times, but the system won’t allow you in.

By 8:01 you realize that you need to try Plan B—luckily, you had prepared for this. You were logged onto Robsham on your phone as well, so you click “Plexapalooza”. Nothing happens.

You cry in disbelief as you are brought to your account page in lieu of the purchase tickets page. You try your laptop again—no luck.

By 8:05 a.m. you are absolutely livid but you bravely continue on, knowing that your luck can’t possibly be that bad—you’re too big of a fan to be shut out like this. By 8:06 a.m., the Robsham site finally decides to work for you. You click your quantity, “1”, and place it into your cart.

A death sentence appears: “Unable to secure seats in this Price Level.”

You sit there in disbelief, staring at these horrific words. It’s now 8:20 a.m., and you’re too disheartened to attend your 9 a.m. class that morning.

You scan the CAB Facebook page, wondering if others had had the same experience, or if your very existence is just one big joke. Disgust creeps over you as you see people offering their tickets for $170 for one, or $270 for two.

Some “generous” souls are willing to accept the best offer for their two tickets. Yes, people who don’t even like the Chainsmokers bought two tickets with the hopes of reselling for absurd prices, taking advantage of the fact that some people are actual fans and want to go for the sheer purpose of watching one of their favorite groups perform.

You become even more disturbed as you realize that some people bought two tickets, one for him or herself, and the other for a friend who… wait for it… doesn’t even attend BC. Shouldn’t BC students take priority at a BC event? Apparently CAB thinks not. You go through your day with a zombie-like gate, mulling over the fact that everything about your life is ironic, and wondering if it’s not too late to send back the outfit you had purchased 3 weeks prior. You wonder if you’ll be able to look at the Plex the same way the 10 days leading up to this event.

You smirk to yourself as you realize that CAB blocked you from writing on the Plexapalooza event page with perfectly valid complaints.

You determine that you’d rather listen to #SELFIE on repeat for 24 hours straight than not have a ticket. You realize that on the night of January 29, 2016, you won’t be livin’ with your bitches, hashtag LIVE. The tears stream down your face. To those who got tickets, I ask this of you:

“You end up alone after all that you’ve done

All that you’ve paid for

Did you get what you wanted?”

The Chainsmokers song, “Let You Go” now sounds like an ode to your non-existent ticket. “Kanye” is now your anthem, depicting your newfound “I don’t give a shit about anything anymore” attitude.

You grab your phone and delete your gym playlist.