Concert Line

Trini and Marci got up in the middle of the night, determined to be first in line for tickets. A special concert was coming to their town for the first time, featuring numerous artists, including secret guest singers and guitarists. Laden with fleece blankets and beach chairs, the friends walked from the parking lot only to find they were not the first.

“What time did y’all get here?” Trini asked a punk rocker lying in a sleeping bag on the blacktop. “11 pm last night? Damn!” The girls looked at each other and made mental notes to arrive the night before any future concerts.

Marci set up their chairs, and they plopped down. Having counted the number in line, they didn’t grumble too much; they were 71 and 72.

Car lights flickered on and off behind them as others arrived. “Look at the line. It’s snaking around the parking lot like a coiled fire hose. I feel bad for anyone who shows up after sunrise. Do you know how many tickets they are selling today?” Marci shook her head no as she watched four teenyboppers running across the lot. They headed to the ticket booth, and all those who had arrived before Marci and Trini went totally silent. No more chattering, or humming, or snoring could be heard. Total silence. The teenyboppers, arms linked, strolled back to the far end of the parking lot, spread a blanket at the line’s end, and sat down. Slowly, the fans began to talk again, and soft voices floated through the air.

Trini was quietly snoring, her nose tucked under the fleece blanket, only her eyes showing. She bolted upright at the sudden noise of some tall males.

“Damn, look at all these fools lying around. Let’s get up there; I heard they were only selling 10,000 today.” Trini’s eyes followed the long legs of the young men until they passed, then she stood up, craning her neck.

Suddenly, she doubled up in laughter, and Marci jumped to the side to see what was making her laugh. They had been checked by a dozen forty-year-old women and were backing away. Not wanting to seem intimidated, the guys nonchalantly moved toward the east side of the parking lot and circled back to the end of the line.

The sun was rising, warmth starting to break the chill in the air. Streaks of orange and pink clouds rippled through a dim blue sky. Numerous thermoses of hot chocolate and coffee were opened, and those aromas mingled with the smell of peanuts and bananas. People were hungry and anxious. Tension hung in the air, and there were still 3 hours before tickets went on sale.

An energetic vendor bicycled through the lot, calling out the menu and prices while handing out hot breakfast sandwiches and drinks. Some people left the line to get food, and as bodies left, the line compressed, wiping out their spot.

Marci had her eye on a tall guy with bright blue eyes and ebony hair wearing Levi’s and a bomber jacket. He got hot cocoa and a Polish dog with mustard. She smiled at him as he walked past and reclaimed his place in the line, the people recognizing him and opening his spot back.

Five girls in fake fur coats, high heels, false eyelashes, and the longest fingernails Trina had ever seen, clickety-clacked past them to the front. “Girl, those are nails I would never wear or put on one of my clients. One catch on something and yowza, super-pain!” Marci giggled, waving her freshly done hands at her favorite manicurist. The friends watched the fancy high-heeled ones wiggle their rears as they approached the front of the line.

She could hear them, declaring shrilly, “This is our spot. We marked it last night. You guys need to back up.”

“Oh, hell no, we are not backing up. Take your funky butts away from us,” replied a tall brunette who stood, feet spread wide, hands on hips. The line closed tight, pushing closer together, squeezing the fake-fur-clad gals away. “No room at the inn for you!” laughed the brunette.

As the day brightened further, tension in the crowd heightened, and the line inched forward, all in silent agreement of its order. A group of sports cars arrived and double-parked. The drivers jumped out, scanning the line from the side for a gap and striding toward the front. The crowd pressed tighter, and men in the line changed sides, sending a signal of solidarity.

Copyright © 3/23/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin. Thanks for stopping by! 😃 If you like ♡ my scribbles, hit the subscribe button. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️