Last night, at Arcade Fire's gig in London, I scored a mighty victory against The Man... and accidentally stole free healthcare from some of the planet's poorest people.
The amount of money I've spent on "handling fees" for concert tickets in my time is really quite mind boggling.
A quick estimate shows that I've spent around £6 billion on these dastardly fees. (N.B. I added in a multiplication factor called, Hatred Of Money Grabbing Fuckwits - it turns out that this figure was quite large)
Managing Director of Ticketmaster, giving a motivational speech (I think)As the rain lashed down upon one of North London's highest points, where Alexandra Palace sits and looks out across the city, I arrived ticketless to see one of my favourite bands.
Despite the concert selling out some time ago, I had read rumours that some more tickets were being released for sale on the door.
With this in mind, I looked to those bastions of good will, the touts (scalpers to any Americans out there) for some cut-price tickets.
Bearing in mind I could get face value entry to the venue through official sources, I thought they'd be up for giving me a good price.
They just lied to me though and said there weren't any tickets on the door, but how about a special price of £45?
I can't really blame them though as they do have families of snakes to feed. Probably.
Slightly worried that they were telling the truth (I can't help trusting gold-toothed criminals), I headed to the entrance to find out if I could still get a ticket from the box office.
Hallelujah! They still had them but I didn't have enough cash and they didn't accept cards.
I was directed past the ticket-collectors to a cash machine.
Once I had the well earned readies in my hand (thank you student loans), I turned around and realised I didn't need them anymore.
The astute among you will have noticed that I said they directed me past the ticket collectors to the cash machine - I was already inside!
I almost laughed at the woman in the cloakroom who took £4 from me to deposit my bag and coat.
An astonishing figure to look after my stuff for an hour and a half but much easier to swallow when you paid nothing to get in.
Seeing bands in massive venues is about as electric as the stone age.
I always get disappointed when I go to see a band that I really like and the soul-sapping enormodomes suck the life out of the performance.
After the first couple of songs last night, I was ready for that familiar, lifeless experience.
Win Butler, the lead singer of Arcade Fire, sarcastically told the audience he was blushing as a result of the adulation he was receiving from them.
His words echoed around the silent, cavernous hall.
Things seriously warmed up though and by the end I think the band were genuinely humbled by the audience reaction.
Butler said that the band wouldn't be playing in the UK for a long time and the gig certainly had an 'end-of-term' feel about it with what appeared to be roadies joining them on stage for the final song.
Hopefully they are taking time out to go and write the greatest album of all time.
A small pang of guilt came over me when Butler announced that a chunk of the ticket price was helping to give free health care to people in Haiti.
He sure knows how to kill a mood.
The ridiculous state of the transport links across North London meant that I had a long journey home in the pissing rain.
I don't know if it was the general euphoric glow from the gig, giving me rose-tinted judgment but I really enjoyed the packed train journey home.
Sardine tins don't even come close to describing it and all I can say is that the Japanese would have been proud.
Amid the faintings though, was some great banter.
Yes, English humans, from London of all places, were interacting with each other as if talking was about to be banned.
If commuter trains were that much fun, I'd move to Aberdeen and still come to University in London every morning.
Well maybe not Aberdeen.
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