Over the years, I’ve gotten pretty sharp at negotiating with scalpers. Waiting until the last minute has resulted in deals and adventures at concerts and sporting events of all kinds. It’s gotten to the point where sometimes, the search for tickets is as much a part of the experience as the event itself.
Back in April of this year, three friends and I went to see Muse perform at US Airways Center. We met in downtown Phoenix about an hour before the show, with no tickets and no desire to pay face value. We took our time, had some beers and made a couple laps around the arena to gauge the market. An active number of scalpers roamed the sidewalks and the box office had plenty of tickets still available.
When the band took the stage, tickets started to burn holes in pockets and it was time for us to make some moves.
We got things going by low balling a scalper right outside the main entrance. He used standard scare tactics, slight of hand and swift talking to raise the price and to get us to concede for face value. I could see the wheels turning in my friends’ heads and that they were about to give in. So I stepped in, rejected his offer and threatened to take our business elsewhere. The scalper knew the game, acted insulted and told my friends that I was ruining this opportunity for them.
My buddies were drinking the Kool Aid and leaning toward accepting the man’s offer. Fortunately, I was aware enough to act quickly and stopped them from reaching for their wallets. I led the group down the street, looking for another seller.
When the scalper saw the cash flying away he snapped into survival mode and gave in, offering us the tickets for about half of face value. I gave the fellas the green light, we pooled our money together and had the guy walk up to the gate with us to make sure the tickets were legit. The salesman gave us the tickets and I had the money in my hand. But right before I handed it over, something crazy happened.
Chris Volpe, one of the guys in our group, shoved an extra five dollars into my hand and said something like, “Give him a tip man.”
My jaw dropped, pupils dilated and hands started sweating. Was he serious? He must’ve been drunk. Tipping isn’t part of the dance. So, I rejected this preposterous notion.
Volpe insisted though, and stuck the five back into my hand. What could I do? It was his money. So I gave the scalper the money, he got the heck out of dodge and we walked into the show.
My head was spinning, trying to find the logic in what just happened. After all, who tips a scalper? Volpe smiled in stride and shrugged it off with a laugh.
We ended up snagging killer seats, smooth talking some free beers and taking in a spectacular show. It was my first time seeing Muse and the shock of “the tip” eventually wore off for me. We all had a great time, but when I look back on that concert now, I don’t think about the seats, the discounts or the music.
I smile and think of Volpe tipping the scalper five bucks.
A month after that concert, Chris Volpe was hit and killed by a car while riding his bike in Tempe. He was 24 years old, had just completed the last final exam of the semester and was on his way home to start the summer.
When tragedies strike, I never know how to react, and usually, they bounce off me at first and sink in much, much later.
In this case, I got the call from a friend, a day after the accident, while I was on my lunch break. He told me that Volpe had died the night before and that a few of our friends were hanging out at his house. I drove over, spent an hour there numb, sitting on the couch talking a bit with the others. Then went back to the office.
I’ve never had to deal with death at work, didn’t know how to handle the situation and reacted by going about my business. It hadn’t sunk in yet.
I had known Chris for about a year, but it was only within the few months before his death that we grew close and started hanging out regularly on the weekends. Our group was having a great time and it felt like our friendship was just taking off.
Crazy how quickly things can change.
But what fascinates me most now, is how much I am learning about him in the short time after his death. It seems so backwards that only after he was gone did I meet his family, hear so many stories and get to know so many different sides of him. I started to appreciate what a caring, kind and giving person Chris was. The candle light vigil, the ghost bike memorial dedication, the honorary toast at Casey Moore’s and the funeral warmly celebrated his life and offered glimpses at the type of man Chris was. It’s so sad, tragic even, that it took death to generate such attention to a life. Would I have learned about any of these wonderful sides of Chris, if he was still alive?
It made me wonder, “What else is out there?” So I started searching.
I found out that he had a Twitter account and I’m following him now, over a month after the accident. He created a series of movie-review videos on YouTube with his brother and on Facebook his profile is memorialized. People have been posting messages to Chris on his wall regularly since his death. They tell him that they miss him. They fill him in on what they are up to in life. They write about things in their day that remind them of Chris.
These loving, personal and caring messages are not scribbled in journals and tucked away in closets. They’re shared, beautifully, and are a constant sign of life, celebration and continued love for Chris and everyone who cares about him.
I thought his death finally hit me at the reception when I started to focus on the brotherly aspect of it all. But no. It hadn’t hit me yet back then.
It did just now, when I checked Chris’s Facebook profile for the first time in over a month and read the latest comment: “Good night buddy, miss you and love you!” posted by his brother two hours after I started writing this.
Thanks to these messages, stories, videos and support, my relationship with Volpe continues to grow and I feel so privileged to have known such a fun, kind and caring person. I finally understand why he threw in that extra five bucks for the scalper back in April. And to me, that tip will remain a vivid symbol of who he was, a model of how to treat people and one of the many reasons he will always be sorely missed.
Rest in peace my friend.
Chris Volpe
August 29, 1985 – May 10, 2010
