Lady Gaga, or “Mother Monster” to her fans, has been on tour for the past two and a half years. As a long-time fan, I’ve been trying to get tickets the past three times she’s toured in Atlanta, but have failed every time due to the show selling out.
Last May, Gaga announced the tour dates for the third leg of “The Monster Ball.” The show was a year away, but it fell on my 21st birthday. Of course, I had to find a way to go. Sadly for me, the tickets were sold out in a matter of months, and tickets were being sold online for double the original price. My mother felt pity for my poor, college student bank account and snagged two tickets. One for me, and one for my best friend, Heather.
When we found out we were going (and that we had general admission tickets), we knew we had to camp out overnight, in order to get prime “seats.” Gaga fans are known for waiting long hours in the cold to get as close to her as possible. Heather and I arrived at the Gwinnett Arena in Duluth on April 17 at 9 p.m., the night before the concert. The arena was dark and desolate — a sign that we were the first people there. We hauled our cooler, bags and blankets to the line and waited for our 4 other friends who were seeing the show with us. We set up our six-person tent at our place in line, in front of the entrance.
Shortly after we arrived, Molly Mitchell, a student from Kennesaw State University, claimed her space in line behind us. “I just got off a plane from Tampa. I was at her show last night,” Mitchell told us. She isn’t unusual. Many of the Little Monsters that arrived to camp out follow Gaga’s tour. Mitchell’s “Gaga friend,” Clare Lioon, who was at Gaga’s New Orleans’ show a few days earlier, showed us pictures and shared stories of her encounters with “Mother Monster” herself, building our excitement. We sang Lady Gaga songs and ate cold fried chicken. The night was young, and I was almost 21.
In the middle of the night, a security official drove over to our tents and told us we had to leave. Our base camp had already been set-up, and it had taken nearly an hour to build our tent. Taking an hour to drive back home wasn’t an option. After he left, it took us about five minutes to decide that we were not leaving. Instead, we moved our illegally parked cars to a designated spot.
It was 1 a.m. when we returned to camp and tried to get some sleep. The air was cold, and the ground was hard, but the sounds of Lady Gaga’s 28 semitrailers, filled with her set and wardrobe, boosted our morale and increased our excitement.
Throughout the night, I was woken up by the shuffling feet of fans lining up with lawn chairs and blankets. All 30 people camping out were jubilant and running on adrenaline. At around 6:45 a.m., an arena employee named Margaret woke us.
“We normally don’t start doing this until 10 a.m. to noon, but since y’all have been out here so long, I’m going to give you wristbands with a number on it,” said Margaret. Having a numbered wristband meant that we could leave the line and come back at any time to our saved spots. She instantly became a crowd favorite.
We packed up camp and headed to Waffle House. Afterward, we strutted smugly past the growing crowd who had been waiting in the heat. The line was covered in glitter, sequins, lace and chains. Girls and guys stood clad in barely-there outfits and recreations of famed Gaga costumes. There were skeleton-painted faces and cut-off shorts pinned together by safety pins. Businessmen wore Lady Gaga t-shirts tucked into their Dockers dress pants. My friend, Kristina Szegidewicz, wore a black bra and panties, which took her several hours to bejewel.
While we waited through the final hours, I made a sign to show “Mother Monster” from the crowd. It was a simple, white poster board, which read: “Born This Day. 21st. Give me a kiss. We camped out over night. Been in line for 24 hours.” A little glitter glue and alphabet cutouts can go a long way.
At 7 p.m. the doors opened. My friends and I found a spot left of the catwalk. I stood wedged between a forty-something blonde, a four-and-a-half foot girl with an over-sized purse and my friends behind me. An hour after the opening band, Semi-Precious Weapons, who played just long enough to keep me interested, Her Majesty finally appeared. The lights dimmed, and Gaga’s silhouette appeared against a purple back splash.
The show unfolded to a New-York-City-themed musical, complete with a vintage Rolls Royce; a subway car; a fire-breathing piano; and a gigantic, illuminated angler fish. I gripped the top of the barricade and tried to fight back my tears. However, my emotions got the best of me, and the tears smeared and obscured the lightening bolt I had drawn on my face. I didn’t care. I belted out the lyrics from 18 songs, including “Telephone,” “Bad Romance,” “Monster” and “Born This Way.” I put my monster paws as high into the air as I could, danced and hugged my friends.
Throughout her show, Gaga took breaks to address her fans to speak about self-love and acceptance. She talked about believing in yourself, even when no one else does. When she spoke to us, she always mentioned hope and love, things I strongly believe in. Her words of encouragement are a powerful message for anyone who feels alone or misunderstood. As she often put it, we were free. Free to be whoever we wanted.
When she came to my side of the stage, I thrust my sign into the air, jumped up and down and screamed. Yes, I looked about 13-years-old. She smiled, sang me the “Happy Birthday” song and asked me where my drink was. I don’t remember how I responded, but it was something along the lines of: “Thankyousomuchiloveyou!” I was overwhelmed and so grateful to have exchanged words with the woman whose music makes me so happy. My back hurt and my chest was congested, but my night in the cold had paid off.
