I am nothing if not a fool.

Anyone who knew me in high school most likely knows my love for Train (the band, not the mode of transportation). (Although, now that I’m thinking about it, I do love the mode of transportation as well. Maybe my musical preferences were the subconscious motivation for my college major. Sorry for the tangent – a point of contemplation for another day.) But as much as I do love my status as a (recently-expired) Amtrak-certified consultant, my first Train love was of the musical variety and included Pat Monahan and a group of middle aged men who, in 1997, left “San Francisco in a thousand-dollar van”.

My first real concert (other than rushing out of a family photo shoot for the church directory to see what was left of ABBA in 2004) was Train, Andy Grammer, and Mat Kearney at Stage AE on Pittsburgh’s northside at the beginning of my freshman year of high school. I sang and danced and freaked out when Andy Grammer touched my hand and then again when Pat Monahan threw me a beach ball from the stage. It was incredible. The second time I had the opportunity to see my San Franciscan men (well technically Pat is originally from Erie, PA but San Francisco is rather integral to their identity as a band, so I will refer to them as collectively “San Franciscan” going forward) live was the summer after my senior year of high school. Unfortunately, I was scheduled to work at the deli the night they were in town and I was too timid and insecure to ask to switch my schedule.

Although (in my humble opinion) the band has gone downhill a bit since that magical night at Stage AE in 2011, when I saw that they were coming to Nashville this summer, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to redeem my previous action of deli prioritization. And, to top it all off, they were touring with the Goo Goo Dolls, a band that I have wanted to see since high school. (And a band that I almost did see in high school but the concert was the same night as prom or something. I would have rather gone to the concert.)

However, because of who I am, I never actually did anything about the fact that Train and the Goo Goo Dolls were coming to Nashville and by the time I remembered the concert, it was sold out and ticket prices were in the triple digits. I cursed my procrastinatory nature because when I originally looked online, the tickets were quite affordable. I scoured Craigslist and Stubhub, trying to find someone wanting to get rid of their ticket for a smaller price and mentally debated whether or not I even wanted to go to the concert by myself (because I wasn’t about to guilt any friends into spending such a sum to accompany me). I ultimately came to the conclusion that if I could find tickets for less than $100, I would go to the concert alone. I refreshed LiveNation relentlessly and each time someone posted a ticket that was even slightly cheaper, I pounced. But to no avail.

The clock continued to tick away and the start of the concert was approaching quickly. I desperately texted a few people from Craigslist (who either never responded or had just sold their ticket) and decided to lay down the big bucks as prices just continued to rise. And then I remembered...Space Prom.

Space Prom was a concert I went to a few months ago that was sold out (because, you know, I never got around to buying a ticket). A bunch of my friends were going and I wanted to join, so I jumped on the Facebook event page and luckily found someone who was willing to sell me her ticket. She emailed me the ticket, I Venmoed her, and I had a mediocre time at Space Prom. (Honestly it was kind of a weird event.) That night, my friend Sam also tried to get a Space Prom ticket via Facebook and was, unfortunately, scammed and sold a fake ticket. I remembered this event happening, but decided to only focus on my previous success rather than his failure. And that, my friends, was my folly.

A few people had posted that they were trying to sell their tickets last minute and I messaged two of them immediately. I noticed another post on the page that someone had called out as a scammer and the thought that the people I was messaging could also be scammers did, for the briefest of moments, cross my mind. However, I had decided that I wanted to go to the concert and my high school memories of this mediocre rock band were the rose-colored glasses convincing me that these Facebook trolls were truly well-intentioned humans who simply couldn’t make it to a great concert. I quickly searched “Karen Gibbs, Facebook scammer?” on two different search engines, saw no immediate results that seemed alarming, and decided she was legit.

As you may have guessed by this point, this was a bad idea. (Side note: I know very little about brain chemistry, but I am sure there was some sort of adrenaline or other hormone-type chemical that was released by the combination of my increasing desire to go to the concert and the decreasing amount of time before it began because at this point, I had totally forgotten that there were other options for acquiring tickets and all I could focus on were these Facebook strangers whose profiles were very obviously fake.)

Without going into any more detail than necessary, I will say that I may or may not have created a PayPal account in order to buy these tickets and may or may not have spent around $100 using said PayPal account to pay random strangers from the Internet who promised me tickets they never delivered. (Side note: I just looked back at the Facebook event page and I am truly ashamed to have messaged any of the people who posted any messages on the page. If you ever want to feel intelligent/need a confidence by comparing yourself to someone else [because, you know, that’s a healthy and productive thing to do], please click on this link and laugh at me).

Looking back on my journey that night has been a truly fascinating psychological reflection because all of my typical extreme skepticism with regard to the Internet (it took me two years to be convinced to download Venmo and that was only because I had to in order to pay my rent) flew out the window. I even, in my frustrated fluster, BELIEVED a woman who told me she wasn’t scamming me when I asked her directly (because, you know, I'm confrontational and ballsy). I knew exactly what was happening in the moment and yet I continued to eagerly send money to sketchy email addresses via my brand-spanking-new PayPal account. (An account, by the way, I have since deactivated due to the emotional distress it has caused.)

Since, as mentioned before, I am typically so skeptical with regard to the Internet, you may be wondering why I have taken so much time and effort to share this story with said Internet. Especially because all I really shared was that I did a dumb thing and didn’t go to a concert. Especially for someone that doesn’t typically like sharing and doesn’t typically like the Internet, this seems a bit counterintuitive. (But the fact that I enjoy blogging whilst despising the concept of blogging is equally counterintuitive so I suppose it fits.)

If you have endured this post up until this point, I am equal parts impressed and appreciative. And you’re in luck because this is where it gets juicy (And when I say “juicy” I mean, less of me bumbling on about nothing and more of me bumbling on about something with slightly more substance.) because as frustrating as this scenario was, walking around Nashville anxiously waiting to receive tickets that didn’t exist got me thinking about my life and made me realize how big of a milestone this failure was for me.

These past few years I have been in a bit of what some might refer to as a “slump”. (Others might call it a “DSM-5 level mental health crisis”, but you know, tomato tomato.) Throughout said slump/crisis I haven’t exactly ~been me~ most of the time; a lot of normal things have been sources of great anxiety and things I have historically loved have initiated panic attacks.

For example, “Slump Cassidy” would have briefly considered going to the concert out of respect for the bands performing and social expectation, but, when presented with the idea, freaked out and retreated because going out and doing things involved more fear and dread than joy and excitement. Or I would have gone because I felt like I was “supposed to” and anxiously checked my watch the entire time until it was a socially acceptable time to leave.

Even if I had considered going to the concert, I would have been scared to ask people if they wanted to go with me (because, you know, that requires putting myself out there and spending the entire night with someone on the off chance they said yes) and then just never bought tickets because I couldn’t decide who to invite. I would still have been thinking about it the day of the concert and checked to see if tickets were still available. I would have seen the inflated prices online and scorned myself for not buying tickets sooner. I then would have scrapped the whole plan and told myself that I didn’t deserve to go anyway because I couldn’t get my shit together early enough to make it happen and nobody would want to go with me anyway.

Had I, in my slumpier state, fallen for Internet scammers (not once, but thrice!!! I know. I am ashamed), my walk around Nashville with a negative balance in my brand new PayPal account and no tickets in sight would have been filled with anger and self-hatred, cursing myself for being so stupid and having nowhere to direct my rage except inwardly. I would have wandered around until my mind got so cloudy I couldn’t think and then I would have gotten even angrier at myself for allowing the situation to spiral out of control.

But instead, on Tuesday night, I looked at “Rosemary Faith’s” sketchy-ass PayPal request that I had eagerly fulfilled and my Ticketmaster account that remained empty and I laughed. I faced my foolish reality, the fact that I had spent more money not going to the concert than I would have if I had just bought a ticket from StubHub in the first place.

I recognized the Cassidy that would have cursed herself, but I recognized her as one small part of me that was noticeably dimmer than before. Instead, I felt detached from the money and the need for control that tends to overpower me. After the third illegitimate PayPal transaction (yes, I know, I am a fool), my worldly cares began to evaporate and I was ready to hand out stacks of Benjamins to every “Nigerian prince” and “troubled grandchild” out there asking for money via the Internet. (I know my mother is having a fit right now just imagining such a scenario so just to quell her anxiety, I would like to report that I did not do that.)

On Tuesday night, I regret to inform me, I did not get to see Train or the Goo Goo Dolls in concert. Rather, I got to take a nice stroll around downtown Nashville and chat with some men about the weather. I got to explain my incompetence to some legitimate scalpers and roll my eyes along with them as they told me I was too old to fall for the schemes for which I had fallen. I even considered buying tickets from them and actually going into the blasted concert (they promised to walk me to the gate and showed me their badges so I knew they were legit) but instead I just continued to meander around a city I love and enjoy the beautiful (albeit humid) night.

(Honestly, this here blog post is a big part of the reason I didn’t just bite the bullet and buy a ticket from the scalper. It felt kind of poetic to stand outside the gates of Ascend Amphitheater with my dreams just out of reach. For the purposes of literature, it was more symbolic for me not to go to the concert. Yes, I know I am dramatic and absurd. Such is life.)

To top off my unique Tuesday night escapades, I hopped on a Lime (the electric scooter, not the fruit) and zoomed myself back to my ragtag little apartment. Most people are wary of the electric scooters that litter Nashville’s streets, but for me, zooming through the city with the wind in my hair and my knees bent slightly to safely absorb any cracks in the road is an oasis of freedom in this constrictive essence we call life. (See, I told you I was dramatic.)

So yeah, that’s it. Here is a little TLDR recap for the very niche population of people who are invested enough to wonder about random things that go on in my life but aren’t interested in long-winded, quasi-sensical explanations of said things and for those who have a hard time keeping track of said explanations.

Big Train Girl
Never bought Train tickets (for musical entertainment, travel, or otherwise)
Pretty bad at making decisions and doing things but used to be worse
Decided to make a decision and do a thing
All logic and intelligence flew from my head and I paid three different Internet scammers for tickets that didn’t exist to said thing.
I can now laugh at myself instead of yell at myself when I make silly decisions such as the one mentioned above and that is a good thing.