I had the Golden Ticket: the highly coveted document that more than 1.5 million people had prayed for, hoped for, wished for, bargained with the Devil for. I was one of 8,000-odd people Michael Jackson lottery winners, people who had been, through the luck of a computer screen, invited into the sensory and emotional overload of the late Jackson’s memorial service.
It feels strange to refer to a memorial service invitation as a lottery prize. Strip away the single gloves, fedoras, t-shirts and tears and you have an odd scenario presented to you. At best, an exclusivity has been bestowed – the opportunity to say goodbye to someone who impacted your life, but to whom you were never able to offer a hello in person. At worst, you have the chance to join the circus that has been Jackson’s life and, since his passing on June 25, death.
Were I one of the millions who have been sobbing since word broke of Jackson’s death, I’m sure I would have been at the Staples Center in Los Angeles. Reality is, however, that I was one of the thousands of people out there who entered the memorial lottery to say a cordial thank you to Jackson. I wanted to do my part to show that people cared about his contributions to pop culture. I wanted the number of people who entered the lottery to reflect his contributions to music and dance.
I did not enter the lottery to win.
The odds were so stacked against my making the cut that it never registered with me that I could actually have to deal with the idea of attending the service. When you buy a Powerball ticket, you daydream about what you might buy, but you don’t sign the dotted line on a new car or condo. You’re not going to win.
That’s when I checked my email on a Sunday night and realized I was expected at Dodger Stadium the next day. Could I make the trip? Plane fare from Boston to Los Angeles alone – not even considering hotel and ground transportation – shot down that idea. I was faced with the realization that I had taken two tickets from some faceless Michael Jackson fan who had most likely been sobbing for a week and a half. This was not exactly my proudest hour.
This also was not good ticket karma. Unless I rectified this situation by midnight PST, I could kiss goodbye the good fortune that might have otherwise granted me access to Opening Day tickets at Fenway Park or a seat the next time Radiohead comes to a local venue. I had to find someone who could use the voucher I had received and who would appreciate the seats.
Naturally, I turned to the Los Angeles edition of Craigslist, the Internet catch-all. Need tickets? Looking for a love match? Go to Craigslist. Need a MJ fan? There were plenty.
People had begun to post that they had spare tickets for the memorial available. Have $400? $500? One man was looking for a woman – from out of town – who would like to be his plus one for the event. Hello, sleaze.
These are the people on whom ticket karma does not smile – those looking to capitalize. As someone who resells spare tickets to ballgames or concerts for face value, the idea of charging people for a ticket to a memorial made me cringe. I prepared to post. Free: one voucher for two ticket to Michael Jackson memorial.
That’s when I saw the post: “Looking for a kind angel who can give a huge Michael Jackson fan one ticket to his memorial.”
The email was brief. I didn’t even use my name. I forwarded the voucher email I had received, explained that I could not attend and asked that it be used without monetary gain.
I received a response: “Is this for real?” As it turns out, I had contacted someone set to travel from the Midwest to Los Angeles for the event. When I read that the person thought that “this was going to be the most important thing in my lifetime,” I knew I had found the right man for the Golden Tickets. I told him to book his flight.
The diehard fan would take in the sights and sounds from LA. I would watch the memorial from my office cubicle on the East Coast. This was how it was supposed to be. I cued up Thriller – my first album – and smiled. Ticket karma had been restored.
