My Temporary Home at the ACC

This past Saturday, my boyfriend and I bought tickets to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs play the Philadelphia Flyers in a pre-season exhibition game at the Air Canada Center. Like most people in Toronto, the only tickets we could afford were in the purple section, and like most students in Toronto, the only ones in the purple section we could afford were in the standing row. Our plan was to grab empty seats close by after the game had started.

The seats we chose were also in the purple section and not much better than the standing section our tickets assigned us. As the start of the game neared, we sat in our stolen seats in utter silence, waiting for their owners to claim them. And of course, they did. We were told by a young couple quite harshly that we were in “their” seats, waving their tickets before us as proof of their claim. We kindly moved up to the standing section were we belonged and stood in sections one and two. Ours were in fact sections twenty-nine and thirty but we figured no one would really care up here. First period started and we began to enjoy the game. The Leafs scored a goal within the first five minutes and as we hugged each other in celebration I felt a tap on my shoulder. Another young couple, tickets in hand, announced in the midst of the celebration, rather abruptly, that we were standing in “their” spot. Again we apologized and sulked towards “our” spot, where we resided for the rest of the game.

During first intermission I began to think about these spaces and why normally rational people defended these two foot by two foot spots vehemently as “theirs” when confronted with intruders. Was it the money they paid for them? I don’t think so, because people in the purple section seemed just as upset and confused when someone was in their space, as the guy in the gold section who paid one hundred and fifty dollars more. Even in the standing row, the worst place to watch the hockey game in the Air Canada Center, individuals were genuinely upset and put out when we were in “their” area. These rather insignificant spots, places the individuals who occupied them never even considered before entering the arena, or will consider after they leave it, became a place of safety, “their” private quarters in a public space. Because of this experience I understood more clearly how someone could consider a cardboard box or shopping cart home. It’s not so much the size or the worth of the space but the security these dwellings offer when one is placed in a public atmosphere. Because my boyfriend and I had print outs that clearly stated in black ink that we “owned” seats twenty-nine and thirty in row eighteen of the purple section we were armed to defend “our” spots against any intruders who dared take them from us.

They were our spaces, our private quarters in a public area. With a five four win in over time, everyone filed out of the ACC, their temporary homes abandoned, never to be considered again. And all of the sudden these spaces became “anti-spaces” with no one to claim them, just a small piece of plastic with a metal number on them, almost like a void, exaggerating the emptiness of the place. Even spaces twenty nine and thirty in the purple section, completely forgotten…until the next game.