This is the story of how I potentially ruined a good pair of shoes, chased down a dream and made one of the best spontaneous decisions I’ve ever made.
When news of Morrissey’s Manila concert spread, I vowed not to let it pass — but the minimum ticket price of P3710 (for general admission, mind you) turned out to be a big middle finger raise to that promise. So I made a mental list of the ways I could possibly clinch a ticket.
Buy with own money? Nope, meager summer allowance pretty much crossed that option out.
Cover event as a member of the press? Tried, but my editor turned down the pitch because it wasn’t Lady Gaga level.
Join a raffle? Tried as well, but no relevant results turned up even after a thorough search engine scramble.
So when I heard of this contest by Rogue magazine, I thought, “This is it! This could be my one chance to see Morrissey!”
The trouble was, I only found out about the contest an hour and a half before the announcement of winners. And because it involved sending in an answer that could only be found within the magazine’s pages, it seemed like I would never make it on time.
At 3:22 this afternoon, I sent Rogue the following e-mail:
Morrissey in Manila: The answer to your question and why I deserve that ticket
Question: What was the brand of the meat grinder used in Isabelle Daza’s cover shoot?
Answer: The meat grinder’s brand is Fleetwood.
I first read about Rogue magazine’s ticket giveaway today at 2:30 p.m. I was at the office where I was taking my internship, a stone’s throw away from Greenbelt. To find out the answer to the question, I did what anyone in the 21st century would do: I Googled it. Not surprisingly, the answer was nowhere to be found.
I debated whether or not I should run towards the nearest bookstore. I made like I was going to the restroom and ran to the two convenience stores in our office building in search of Rogue. No such luck. I went back to my desk, ready to resign myself to the last few hours of the working day. I told my friends at work about the dilemma, and one of them nudged me by saying, “You know, the more time you spend talking is less time you spend getting there.”
Then in a fortuitous moment, the stars aligned and my supervisor went out for a late lunch. I raced down 18 floors, jogged along a bridgeway and dashed to Powerbooks — pending article assignment and time log be damned.
When the bookstore’s doors closed behind me, I ripped the plastic off the magazine and scanned the pages while brisk walking back to the office.
Did I get stared at by people passing me by? I wouldn’t know and frankly, wouldn’t care. Halfway through the bridgeway, I felt light on my feet. Was it the bliss of finding the answer? The exhilaration of knowing that despite finding out about the contest quite late, I might still stand a chance? Partly.
But as I returned the magazine inside its brown paper bag, I looked down and saw the real reason for the light feeling. There was now a hole where the toe cap and the heel of my shoe used to be joined tightly together.
All for the love of Morrissey. So please, Rogue staff — please give me a shot at those tickets. I sure could use the P3,700 savings for a brand new pair of shoes.
A minute before 4 p.m., I got the following reply:
Thank you, Rogue magazine for giving me a reason to grin and repress the urge to do a happy dance at the office.
Thank you, Sir Peds, for taking your well-deserved lunch break.
Thank you, Powerbooks for keeping your newsstand up-to-date.
This May 13th, I’ll be where there’s music and there’s people and they’re young and alive. ❤