KEY POINTS:
I spent Saturday night at the brand new - and very nice - Vector Arena watching Rockstar: Supernova. As much as I like Tommy Lee, I was more interested in checking out the motley seating plan than the ex Motley Crue drummer. Did you know the seats are different colours so the venue looks fuller on screen? I bet that's no consolation to the apartment dwellers who must get a motley stream of blue and green light through their curtains each night, care of the venue's neon sign.
Anyway, after walking up a virtual red carpet of road cones and cops and through a check-point manned by pleasant staff in pale green shirts, we arrived at Camp Vector.
Inside there were more green shirts wired up with mics and earpieces, some holding clipboards, most with security tags and a few standing around in circles looking uncertain as to what to do next.
No worries - the voice of God was about to come over the loudspeaker. Check your ticket for your allocated seat, he said, and proceed to the correct door to get there.
We went to the bar for a beer. The queues were long and slow but that's forgivable for opening night. Especially as you must wait for your drink to be poured into a plastic cup, presumably in case the maniacal urge to hiff it at someone overcomes you. This is just as well, because it did. And it had nothing to do with the bartender asking a group of excited fans to keep their voices down.
We went to find our seats. There were people in them. They weren't moving. Another couple had the same problem. So the four of us asked one of the green shirts for help.
A row is missing, she explained. Aah, so that's why construction took so long. They forgot to put a row in. She also said there was "confusion" as to whether or not seating was allocated. Not according to the loudspeaker and my ticket, I said, which to be fair, was a freebie.
She went to get the operations manager. He said, go and see the woman with the clipboard. She said, wait here. She went to get two more green shirts. They were big burly men. They said they were not going to ask the people to move because there was no point upsetting anyone. Too late. Two more green shirts arrived. They said the people wouldn't move. Have you asked them to? No, they said.
The manager returned. Can we have some seats please? Anywhere? Go see the other lady with a clipboard, he said. Email me on Monday, she said. Three cops showed up. And another green shirt. None of whom took charge of the now ridiculous situation, despite our pleading with a motley crew of clipboards, earpieces and green shirts, getting more annoyed by the second. What's the point in allocated seating if you're not going to enforce it? And why fetch people who refuse to do anything except play with their new walkie talkies? Especially you, operations manager. Stop managing; start operating.
Eventually, dumbfounded by the lack of progress over something so simple, and now missing the opening set (not such a bad thing, in retrospect), we went in search of new seats that weren't going to give us vertigo. There were so many free we felt stupid for not looking sooner, and stumped that it had not been suggested. Still, part of me was worried we might kill ourselves by stumbling into a missing row. Finally, after a bit of hiking up Vector Hill, we sat down.
All was well with the world ... until a green shirt came over and asked us to move because we weren't in our allocated seats. I picked up my plastic cup, put it down, breathed deeply. Half an hour later the woman next to me, who was having a great time dancing, was told to sit down.
Now I don't want to bag the arena staff on their first performance - but guys, try anything like that at the Chilis concert and your green shirts won't stay pale green for long.
