6:58

A nervous atmosphere fills the room.

Baw Btudent (18) is a first year starting at UQ law, confident that she’ll snatch tickets for the law ball.

“It’s probably going to be fine,” she claimed,

“I’ve ticketed for BTS before.”

She shudders at the memory of it. Her fingers aching from typing so aggressively, the 67 tabs open, the angry swearing at classmates to “shut the fuck up or I won’t get to see Jimin IRL.”

Did she mention that this was in the middle of her year 12 chemistry class? Maybe that’s why she flunked her external.

She briefly calculates the demand-ratio between that concert and the law ball. Probably around 75,000-200 respectively. Unluckily for Baw, she’s a law student and can’t do basic maths.

6:59.

‘It’s going to be okay,’ she tells herself. She could manage to secure BTS tickets in two minutes. Surely no one in law is that desperate to go to a ball. Surely, they’re all doing their weekly 500 pages of cases (that she gave up doing after the first week of the semester).

Surely, the tickets will take at least ten minutes to sell out. She assumes that that’s what the fourth year meant at market day when she told her “Tickets usually sell out in minutes” with a dire tone.

7:00. Its time.

Her eyes focus on all 69 tabs like a pro. Her fingers move faster than the speed of light. No one can beat her. She’s a ticketing pr---

7:00:15.

Silence.

A shudder trickles down her spine.

The words “fully reserved” stare back at her.

“There’s no way.” She mumbles to herself.

“There’s no way that I, Baw Btudent, failed at ticketing.”

She crumbles to the ground, distraught. She now not only has to pay an extra 10 bucks (given that she even gets tickets at all), but also can’t brag to all her peers that stanning BTS has given her many valuable life skills.

The worst part is, she can’t even go on a totally-legal website and negotiate until the ticket is 10 dollars. Or maybe she can.

$10 more to come tomorrow