RATLINKS: THE ERAS TOUR (Evan’s Version)
Why pay money to see a show, when you can get paid to see a show
THE ERAS TOUR (Evan’s version)
My wife is a huge Swiftie. For those unfamiliar with the term, it means she loves Taylor Swift. At first, I shook it off - don’t blame me.
You might already know all too well about my interests, but if you’re new here, feel free to enjoy the myriad Taylor references across prior Ratlinks editions, from August and everything after to discussions of crowd sizes in Ratlinks: dog-dangling days of summer about Copa America.
…READY FOR IT?
Taylor Swift isn't just a musical phenomenon - she's an economic force of nature. In every city the Eras Tour touches, hotels sell out a year in advance and airline fares skyrocket for concert weekends. These costs only matter if you're lucky enough to secure a ticket, which is almost impossible at face value—ranging from $50 for a partial view to $500 for a spot on the floor. Resale markets? Those often start at $1,000 and can soar to $25,000.
My wife counted down the days until the Eras tour arrived in Miami. There was just one small problem—no tickets—a dilemma that thousands of her fellow Swifties shared.
I knew what those tickets would cost us, and arguing was pointless. I didn’t need my wife down bad crying at the gym.
Eventually, the big ask came.
I want to see Taylor but it’s expensive.
“Get a job,” I replied. A joke that lands well upon retelling but didn’t work at the time.
Instead, I got a job, and kids, that’s how I became an usher at the Eras Tour.
LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO
The plan was simple: get a part-time job at the stadium. Then I’d get paid to see the concert.
I assumed others might have the same idea and figured it was in my best interest to apply early, about eight weeks before the concert. Shortly after applying and to my surprise, I got the job!
My start date was only two weeks away, but I couldn’t make onboarding, meaning I couldn't work the start of the NFL and College seasons.
The good news was that my start date moved to October with my first event being The Eras Tour.
This extra month also allowed time to refer a friend to the team.
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
During onboarding, we got our shift assignments, guest experience for the 100 & 300 sections, covering the entire first and third levels of the stadium. Next was an icebreaker, sharing our names and the event we were most excited for —over half of my colleagues responded Rolling Loud, expressing my trade in a different tenor.
TAKE ME TO FLORIDA!
A 1 pm call time meant arrival at an offsite parking lot by 12:30 to catch the employee shuttle. Even though the show did not start until 8 pm, the stadium was buzzing with activity.
The guest experience team gathered in the Lexus Club for orientation. One coworker came in holding a large avocado. She explained a friend had given it to her upon entry, but she wasn't sure what to do with it now. It felt like a symbol for the night ahead—unexpected, strange, and requiring some improvisation. I had no idea what surprises lay ahead, but I knew I'd be dealing with plenty of "avocados."
We split into subgroups based on location of our sections and headed to a second orientation. Then, we waited in our assigned areas. An empty stadium is eerie—a space meant for 60,000 screaming fans, now occupied by a few bored staff members in matching shirts.
MY TEARS RICOCHET
“Doors are open!” echoed throughout the empty stadium. Minutes later, fans sprinted up the helix toward the merch pavilion—the only spot to buy merch, and the lines were already endless.
My section started to fill in, a corner view typically of the end zone became a dramatic spot to take in your first look of the stage. Guests entered, joining in a shared sense of joyous excitement, a feeling that overwhelmed many to tears.
I greeted everyone the same way: “Welcome to Hard Rock Stadium! Do you know where you’re going?” It was friendly and efficient leading to either, “Yes while presenting a ticket” or “I’m not sitting here, but can I take a picture?”
It was my partner Michael's first day too. He’s a bit introverted and seemed baffled by all the female attention the job provided. Oddly, I know his mom, a doctor who works near my home. Another weird connection: while checking a woman’s ticket, she asked “Were you on the flight from New York yesterday? I think I sat behind you.”
WILDEST DREAMS
Ten minutes before showtime, my manager pulled me from my section. We walked briskly toward the exit, and I asked, “Am I in trouble?” We were warned not to use our phones, and a violation would lead to immediate termination. I wondered if I had mindlessly checked mine.
Instead, they needed someone to work a limited-view section. I wasn’t thrilled with the change, but I took it in stride—when life gives you avocados, make guacamole.
The head of security and the guest experience supervisor asked if I was okay with the switch. I knew this wasn’t a negotiation and there was no point in complaining. This was my section now, and I owned it.
Within minutes, a rush of people flooded my VOM, shorthand used by the staff, for vomitorium (noun): a passageway built under or behind the seats of a stadium, amphitheater, or other large building.
My new section covered two areas, one of which was almost empty due to the limited view. I let guests move around freely and invited other employees to watch the show. Unsurprisingly, many female vendors were die-hard Swifties.
An older woman on the cleaning crew was a super-fan. When she asked if she could watch from the entranceway, I moved her to a secluded standing spot with the best view. Eventually, she swapped places with two frozen lemonade vendors, only to return in short order. The lemonade vendors politely gave up their seats and motioned for me to return to their booth. There they handed me an arepa con queso and a frozen lemonade. I wasn't interested in the arepa, but I didn't want to decline their kindness. As I returned I handed the arepa to the cleaning lady, who gave me a quick, grateful smile before turning her attention back to the show, fully absorbed and not wanting to miss a moment.
I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE
I met all types of fans that night—some having a near-religious experience, some recording every second often for tiktok live, and, of course, the screamers.
My favorite fans were the ones with a sense of urgency—sprinting back to their seats like pro athletes coming out of the tunnel. I got it. Tickets were expensive, the show was over three hours long, and bathroom breaks were inconvenient.
As Taylor started her "Red" era, restlessness crept in, a byproduct of being in the stadium for almost five hours with no break.
HOW’D WE END UP ON THE FLOOR ANYWAY? YOU SAY
I stepped out of my section for some air and was immediately stopped by a mother and daughter. Their obstructed-view seats led the mom to upgrade to the floor, as prices had dropped after the show started. Time was of the essence, with a ten-minute version of "All Too Well" on the way.
"How do we get to the floor?" the mother asked, practically bouncing with urgency.
"Keep going to the right until you get to section 132," I directed, already sensing this wouldn't be enough.
"Where? We're going in circles!" she exclaimed, her daughter anxiously shifting beside her.
You need to calm down. You’re being too loud, I thought but didn’t say.
Together we begin to walk towards the other side of the stadium and when I say walk we began at a light jog, only to ramp it up into an outright sprint. As we neared the gate I asked if they had the wristbands needed for floor access.
They gasped, realizing they didn't have the wristbands, which quickly became a problem. The tickets were purchased but not transferred, and the barcode on the ticket had to be scanned for wristbands. Both attendants seemed unsure of what to do. The daughter was about to cry, and the mom was on the edge of a meltdown.
I know this feeling, you know this feeling. That moment when frustration boils over, threatening to turn you into someone you barely recognize. Meditation teacher Lodro Rinzler offers wisdom for exactly these moments: take three deep breaths — in through the nose, out through the mouth — while asking yourself, "Is this something worth getting upset about, or is this just me upsetting myself?"
For this mom and daughter, Taylor was absolutely worth getting upset.
Taking the lead, I offered to escort them to their seats, I grabbed two wristbands and gestured for them to follow. We walked onto the floor, finally reaching their seats just four rows back from the stage. Nice work Mom!
They thanked me profusely, but once Taylor appeared, I was quickly forgotten.
KARMA
The sky opened and a fellow guest experience colleague meets me in the pouring rain saying "Stay here as long as you want." I wandered the floor, eventually ending up by the VIP tent. After sparks fly for about 25 minutes, I decided to keep moving. From the field level, it seemed easy to navigate the bowl, so I decided to visit my wife in her section.
Unsure of where the exit was, I asked a security guard. He pointed to a distant gate, then said, "Oh, you work here—let me move this gate for you." I walked through a crowd of screaming fans and took the helix up two flights to assist in section 344 where I found my wife.
Eventually, I had to return to my post. It was a long walk, so I asked another employee for directions. She radioed for the nearby elevator. The operator, an older woman, in her late 70s, noticed my exhaustion.
"I have been everywhere in this stadium tonight helping everyone I can," I said, leaning against the elevator wall.
"Tired?" she asked, nodding in agreement to her own question. Her knowing smile suggested she'd seen countless nights like this one.
"Yeah, but it's fun," I replied, returning her smile.
She laughed, and I joined her. In that small elevator, sharing a moment of understanding with a stranger, I found unexpected joy. "I like you, this was fun," I said.
I immediately regretted coming back to my section, but duty called.
Checking in on people, even when exhausted, creates a sense of shared connection. It's these small moments that turn an ordinary job into something memorable and meaningful, reminding us that human touch and empathy are irreplaceable.
GETAWAY CAR
The biggest complaint about the concert wasn't the show itself—it was the two-hour delays that guests faced trying to exit the stadium.
Unbeknownst to me, one of the best perks of working at Hard Rock Stadium was the seamless exit. Staff were whisked away on shuttles almost immediately, and quickly taken to their cars at the offsite lot.
I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I’M FEELING 22
Taylor famously gives away the 22 hat during each show.
If you've read this far, comment your favorite Taylor Swift lyric to enter to win a Hard Rock Stadium hat—worn by one of your favorite ushers. The giveaway ends Sunday, November 3rd at midnight. Don’t miss out!
Fuck the patriarchy!!
So, I may or may not have snuck into a Gotye concert once because, you know… he was somebody that I used to know. Yeah, that’s right, I was like a ghost from his past, haunting the back rows in a sea of actual ticket holders. I half-expected security to call me out right then, but I just strutted past them with the confidence of a politician walking into a committee hearing they’re wildly unprepared for.
There’s something surreal about crashing a concert with lyrics that practically narrate your exact situation. Gotye’s belting out “Somebody That I Used to Know,” and I’m thinking, “Buddy, that’s me right now. We used to know each other about ten seconds ago when I breezed past your team at the door.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. But hey, if Gotye can sing about not being noticed or remembered, maybe I’m doing him a solid by being the literal manifestation of that in the audience.
It was a vibe—a once-in-a-lifetime “how did I get here?” moment. I felt like I’d just convinced an entire arena that I belonged there, like I’d channeled my inner Houdini with a sprinkle of “smile, wave, and don’t look suspicious.” Honestly, I should’ve won a Grammy just for staying cool under pressure. All the other concertgoers were blissfully unaware, and I was there like an indie spy, blending in, head-bobbing, trying not to look like I was holding my breath.
And then Gotye got to the chorus, and let me tell you, it hit harder than I expected. There I was, “Mr. Somebody He Definitely Didn’t Know,” thinking, “Yeah, Gotye, but we’re basically old friends now, right? I’m here, experiencing your art, contributing to your vibe. Who needs tickets when we’ve got connection?” Sure, it was a bit like philosophizing after getting away with jaywalking, but still.
By the end, I felt like we’d bonded—me in my covert operation, him serenading a crowd that included at least one person who probably shouldn’t have been there. As I headed out with the crowd, I had a smug grin plastered on my face, savoring the moment. It wasn’t just a concert; it was a life lesson in winging it.
Gotye, if you’re reading this, know that I showed up without a ticket, but with full commitment to the experience. I may just be somebody that you used to know, but hey, you’re also somebody I didn’t pay to see.