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Concert tickets, group buys and the Venmo gap
The tickets went on sale at 10 a.m. on a Thursday, and my friend Kevin was the only one of us who could take his lunch break at 9:55.
So he did what someone always does. He sat in the online queue watching the little progress bar crawl, and somehow got eight seats together in the lower bowl. He posted a screenshot in the group chat with about fifteen fire emojis. We all lost our minds.
Then he posted the total. With all the fees stacked on top, it came to just over $1,600.
What happened next is what I’ve started calling the Venmo gap. It’s that stretch of time between “OMG you got them!!” and everyone actually paying, and for some reason it can last anywhere from four minutes to the night of the concert. Sometimes longer. I know someone who’s still owed for a festival weekend from two summers ago, and at this point I think she mostly keeps it around as a fun fact.
Why the gap happens
I don’t think anyone means to leave the ticket buyer hanging. It’s more that concert tickets are weird. You buy them months in advance, so the show feels abstract. Nobody’s standing at a register, so there’s no moment where the money obviously has to move.
Plus, a lot of people seem to mentally file it under “I’ll pay at the show.” Like they’re going to hand Kevin $200 in cash outside the arena while also trying to find the right entrance. As far as I can tell, that has never once happened in the history of concerts.
And the person who bought them? They’re often too nice, or too embarrassed, to chase it. Kevin is a sweetheart. He’d rather quietly carry $1,400 on his card for three months than seem like he’s nagging people about a fun thing. Which, I mean, is generous. But it’s also how resentment sneaks in.
Closing it fast
My unofficial rule is that the buyer should send the number the same day, while everyone’s still riding the high. Per person, fees included, so nobody has to do the math. Something like:
Got ’em! Came to $1,612 total with fees, so $201.50 each. Venmo, Zelle, Cash App, whatever you’ve got. See you in October!
That last line matters more than it looks. It keeps the message about the concert, not the money.
If you’re one of the seven people who didn’t buy, just pay right away. While you’re looking at the message. Before you close the app. It takes thirty seconds, and it’s maybe the single nicest thing you can do for the friend who spent their lunch break in a digital waiting room on your behalf.
Even with a quick, clear request, there’s usually one or two people who slip through. Not out of malice. They saw the message on their way into a meeting, and then it got buried under a hundred memes.
For those folks, a gentle nudge a few weeks later is totally reasonable. A short “Hey, still have you down for $201.50 for the tickets” is plenty. The trick, I think, is keeping track of who’s actually paid, because after the fifth payment notification it all blurs together. An app like OweMate is handy for that part. It keeps a running balance per person, and on iPhones with Apple Intelligence it can draft a polite reminder for you, which sounds like a relief if your own attempts tend to come out either way too apologetic or weirdly stern. Kevin’s always did.
When someone needs more time
One more thought. If somebody genuinely can’t pay their share right away, the best move is to say so privately to the buyer. “Hey, can I do half now and half next month?” is a totally normal thing to ask. Kevin would say yes in a heartbeat. What stings isn’t someone needing time. It’s someone saying nothing at all and then showing up to the show in a brand-new merch hoodie.
That, for the record, happened. I won’t say who.
The concert was incredible, by the way. Kevin cried during the encore, and nobody gave him a hard time about it, partly because he’d earned it and partly because most of us were crying too.
The OweMate blog is written by the people who make OweMate, a simple way to keep track of money between friends and family.