The only problem was my discovery came a little late. The Police were no longer together in the late ‘80s. My only chance to experience their sound was to see Sting in concert in 1990, but by then he had mellowed considerably.
You can imagine my delight when I found out the Police were regrouping for a reunion tour. And they were coming to Boston. On my due date. It didn’t seem fair. All this time, and I still wouldn’t get a chance to see them in concert. I thought about writing the band a letter. Any chance you’d like to perform for a pregnant lady in the suburbs? It didn’t seem likely.
That was until Ticketmaster emailed an update. The Police were returning to Boston in November. I dialed my husband at work and squealed into the phone. “We are so there!”
The tickets went on sale on a Monday morning. I timed my daughter’s bottle, so she could sit in her Exersaucer while I prompted the Ticketmaster site. Ticket-savvy friends advised me to go for best available seats. I followed their advice and 15 minutes later, I had floor seats for $225 apiece. The computer asked if I wanted to accept them, reminding me I had three minutes to make up my mind.
I never had floor seats to any show in my life. And I never spent so much on tickets. I reminded myself I was no longer 15. I have a 1-year-old daughter; a baby on the way and just put a new roof on the house. But nostalgia took over me. I pushed the “accept” button and the tickets were mine. I knew I was supposed to feel excited, but the guilt came over me in waves.
My husband, ever the pragmatist, encouraged me to buy another pair of tickets. “We can sell the second set on eBay, and recoup the cost of the first.” The idea sounded reasonable, but I waited a half-hour before taking the plunge, half-hoping the show would be sold out. Instead, I found myself with another pair of expensive seats.
Did I mention we’re eBay virgins? Like any visit to the Home Depot, the site intimidates me. And what kind of parent am I, buying $1,000 worth of concert tickets for a few hours of fun?
Now the only thing to do is wait and see. Hopefully someone will want the tickets, and in the mean time, I’m trying not to panic. I remind myself it will all be worth it. Soon I’ll be singing at the top of my lungs again.
Jennifer Hazard lives and writes in Yarmouth.