Living in New York has its privileges.
I could tell you all the tourist brochure reasons I like living here,
but I will spare you. Yes we get it; the city that never sleeps...
Now let me tell you my story...
On a typical day, I check email before hauling to work. After deleting ten messages from the Prince of Nigeria (who, by the way, is in desperate need of our help--I think old royalty in exile needs a little wire transfer of cash and all will be right). After all that palaver, I actually get a message or two I can use.
It's a message from a theater doing readings for a new play, and the tickets are free--first come first served sounds like a plan. Arriving an hour and twenty minutes early, I'm convinced I'm getting in tonight. As I sprint up the stairs, I notice a line; one that starts from the first table to the end of the coffee bar (a lot of people--small theater = not good).
Undaunted, I stand on the line, take out my book, "Revolutionary Road" and wait for a positive sign. A couple of minutes go by. Even though I am engrossed in my book,
instead of staring into space, I'm actually doing something. I feel a tap on my shoulder. "Pardon me, what's this line for?" Then "how many tickets can I reserve?" and, yes, "what's the name of this play?"
Now, clearly these people do not know me very well. Clearly, the one person on line not Twittering, texting or in dreamland with an iPod and I'm the concierge desk for the line?
Yes, I could have answered the question such as:
"What's the name of this play? Oh, it's not a play it's a musical, "The Rape Of Richard Beck". A jaunty little romp full of song and dance numbers and simulated sex. The shower scene is supposed to be outstanding." Realizing most people DON'T get my sense of humor, I say "not sure--ask these people". The cranky old couple in front of me let them sort out the mess.
Thirty minutes later the line starts moving, actual progress! One by one we state our names and like desperate teenage Welfare mothers we give our names in hope of the Govt cheese, or in this case a measly ticket.
By the time they get to me, the ticketmaster announces "once we are on the list, please come back in an hour and tickets will be given out." Okay; I'm here only another hour--I can deal. I buy a cup of their best sludgy coffee and a bar of something in the realm of raspberry, find a seat and whip out the aformentioned book. I have about a minute and a half of silence, when two gents sit at my table and immediately go deep into conversation.. About movies. If there is one thing that pricks up my ears is anything regarding film. Especially when people get things wrong--I am the Jeopardy master.
In my mind it goes like this: "Who is Sam Rami?". "What is Drag Me To Hell?". "Who is Allison Lohman--no, not Elisha Cuthbert--she was on 24." "No, not Allison Janney; she was on the "West Wing" and no, Allison Lohman isn't a teenager--she just looks young." You get the point. No, I didn't correct them; I just like to be right about minutiae.
This folly is keeping me busy and before I know it, ticketmaster starts to dole out the golden tickets--actually light blue, but you get the point.
Except for one thing: the tickets are for the reserved seats...NOT YOU. These are the people who actually belong to the theater: friends, family, some one's pet allergist, you know--NOT YOU.
With my eagle eye vision, I see the reserved list is filled with names from top to bottom, and I get a feeling I may not be getting my fill of the cultural smorgasbord tonight. Ever the optimist, I hold out hop--it's a surprisingly large theater.
Everyone on line now seems to be a bit annoyed, but I try to be positive. Yes there free tickets but hey, maybe getting your name called might not be so good . Look what happened to anyone who got their name called in the lottery. (short story junior high ring a bell anybody)?
Of course, the woman next to me now has to chime in with "this tsn't fair" and "I have to see this play". Ecch, I know the type; an actress. You know what I mean. Loud; every statement has some wild gesticulation, studies "people" on her downtime for "research"--never been in anything. Just there to irritate... me.
Now the guest list is complete and all of us are waiting for our names. One, two three go in. Then: "That's it; sorry, no more seats". But wait--a couple of people come out of the theater: "we have some empty seats". Hey, my luck could turn, right?
Well, somebody got lucky: the two trivia guys and the actress. "Sorry no more seats" and ticketmaster gave us the old "you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here" look. Funny, we didn't leave; we all milled about as if somehow, if we stood around, maybe someone would come out of the theater and say "Awww,you guys can just stand in the aisle!" What the hell...
Nope, I just left and I still haven't finished my book.
