It turns out that not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. It turns out that, sometimes, Vegas giveth and taketh away. It turns out that some souvenirs are the worst, even if free.
When I tagged along with my husband to a work conference, I arrived knowing that I’d packed a secret. We’d briefly considered seeing U2 at the Sphere but the idea came and went as soon as I saw the “Sold Out” moniker for the dates we’d be in the same city as one of our favorite bands. Well, mostly one of our favorites. We’re still wrapping our opinions around some of U2’s newer music.
As the trip neared, a lightbulb flashed sending me to our Capital One account and its entertainment perks. Eureka! Turns out tickets were easily procured as that “Sold Out” moniker meant that companies such as Capital One had scooped up available seats to then resell to its own customers.
We could not have been more excited for the Friday night show, a perfect wind down after a busy week of conventioning. As the week progressed, my husband and I both grew tired and then exhausted but we pushed on knowing that the carrot at the end would be worth it. We’ve skipped shows before that seemed like a terrific idea at the time of ticket purchase but seemed like just too much come showtime.
U2 at the Sphere? There would be no mercy rule this time. Nothing could stop us.
Not only was this a once in a lifetime event, it was also a throw financial caution to the wind one. I would take a nap at my seat, if needed, but, dang it, we would be there.
Except we weren’t.
Instead, the universe chose the hours before the concert to gift us with fevers, aches, clogs, and what the fuckery. Still, we had all intents of pushing through even if for only a few songs. Even if for only the first song. Even if to just peek inside the venue doors.
While the ballads were being prepped for blasting just steps from our hotel, we were navigating the five stages of gooey grief: Denial: We’ll be fine!! Anger: What the fuckery. Bargaining: If we Uber the 1/2 block and wear masks, it’s okay. Right? Depression: Why, why, whyyyyy? Acceptance: The only show we’d be seeing was Flu2.
We might have gotten to Acceptance much more quickly were it not for the spider web of ticket resales. Capital One, the Sphere, and Ticketmaster all indicated that reselling our tickets was fine except they then put in various restrictions on how which made it impossible.
• Sure, you can resell them but only through this ticket broker.
• Sure, you can resell them but you cannot transfer electronic tickets (the only option at initial purchase).
• Sure, you can sell them but (per Capital One) you’ve got to contact Ticketmaster.
• Sure, you can sell them but (per Ticketmaster) via Capital One.
• Absolutely do not come (per the Sphere) is you have a fever! No, sorry, no refunds.
The worst part? This was our own doing.
We had yet to get our flu shots and, yes, I do blame my family.
For over a decade, family flu shots were a group event, born as a way to make the stick slightly better for our needle-phobic son. This flu season, I’d dropped request after request that we pick a day for our shots yet we simply never nailed one down. Could I have gone on my own? Absolutely. But being a mom is not unlike being the captain of a ship—we pass on our own self-care until all others have received everything they need.
It’s why we open doors for our children, intercepting the germs on handles as we let them pass by un-icked. It’s why we burn our tongues on taste tests, checking temperatures or flavors. It’s why we add a small portion to our own plate until we are sure there’s plenty of food enough for everyone else. It’s why we remain silent while our charges whisper saliva laced sweet nothings into our personal space.
It’s why, at the first sound of a sniffle, we jump into action ready to care for everyone else—pledging to ignore our own sickness until everyone else is well. And when that happens? When everyone else is well? We are often left behind, ailing, while still serving as the head of dinner plans, school assignments, carpools, and more.
With no first line of defense, the flu hit my husband and I with such furor that there was no time for me to care for anyone, let alone myself. We went from “I’m a little tired” to “I’ll just die here” in about two hours. Really. On the way to our 7 o’clock dinner reservation at Mr. Chows, we picked up some cold meds as we were both a little congested (probably allergies, we’d said). By 10 pm, we were both flat out under the covers shivering, skin blazing and painful to touch.
Throughout the night, my husband woke several times gasping for air through coughing fits, sitting up so quickly that he passed out. The first time, he landed between the nightstand and the wall, leaving a bruise and goose egg on his forehead. I limped over to find him face down, not moving, and grabbed him by the shoulders in a panic. Terrifying? Um, yes, table for two—and also too out of it to understand that we probably should summon the hotel doctor.
The following days were a blur. We slept and slept. We placed room service orders for soup, crackers, and juice because nothing says Vegas like fifty dollar chicken noodle soup. We slept. We tried to sell those effing U2 tickets. We slept. When our fevers finally dipped enough, we began the long crawl home in a masked haze with zero stamina and endless aches. We slept, plane to plane, until we arrived to an empty house, kids sent to grandma’s just to be safe.
It turns out that not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. It turns out that, sometimes, Vegas giveth and taketh away. It turns out that some souvenirs are the worst, even if free.
Takeaways?
• Get your flu shot. We will be first in line at the door next year.
• Ticketmaster continues its reign as the biggest assholes in the entertainment industry.
• Buy the travel or event insurance. Buy it even if there is no way in hell you would miss that once in a lifetime event. Buy it whether or not you’re clumsy. Buy it even if you never get sick. Buy it especially if you meant to get that flu shot but totally forgot and then dropped a pile of money on concerts tickets with 37 pages of small print that will then be referenced over and over as a policy meant to screw a consumer simply trying to do the right thing.