It was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon in New York, and I was sitting at a small, iron table just south of the TKTS red steps in Times Square. Over my shoulder, the line grew for half-price tickets; I watched tourists gaze up at billboards that I imagined were larger than the buildings in many of their home towns. The sun -- after so many cold months in New York City -- felt incredible on my shoulders. And I smiled, knowing that it was matinee-day, and that I had some thirty-odd Broadway shows within a five-block radius to choose from.
But what to see?
I could check out the updates to Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark.
I could go stand in line for returns at The Book of Mormon.
I hadn't seen Mamma Mia! in several years; maybe it was time to go back?
Rock of Ages would be fun on a summer day, and I did want to know how it's changed since it's move to the Hayes.
I'd been playing the cast albums to Priscilla and Catch Me on repeat, so those were promising options to consider.
Not to mention Anything Goes, which I'd only seen once (the first preview); Jerusalem, which I'd been dying to see again; and Bengal Tiger, which is in its last few weeks...
How does a BroadwayGirl decide?! (It isn't lost on me that this is one darn cool conundrum to have!)
I decided to go for a walk, and see what the theatre gods had in store for me. This is one of my favorite activities, especially during warm weather: I circle through midtown Manhattan, East to West and back again, looking at the marquees. I stop in souvenir shops, I circle through Shubert Alley, I listen to conversations happening in box-office lines. Without exception, I'm led to what inevitably becomes "exactly where I'm meant to be;" It's almost as if the right show finds me, instead of the other way around. So I was eager to see what I would encounter this day.
It happened fast. I'd barely left my table when something pulled me to cut through the parking lot of the Marriott Marquis hotel. I was headed past the gift shops, toward Juniors (maybe my subconscious wanted cheesecake?), when a familiar shape caught my eye on the pavement - a stiff, white rectangle with purple accents and black lettering. It is, of course, a Broadway ticket.
They fly out of pockets and Playbills after shows all the time. There was no reason for me to think anything other than that this one had been purposefully discarded. But somehow, from the time I spotted it, I knew that this ticket was lying in front of me for a reason. I peered at it, feeling superstitious about picking it up before I determined for certain what it was. But I was right - like a gift from the Universe, this was a primo orchestra ticket for that day's matinee, less than an hour before curtain. Could this really be happening to me?
The show: Memphis, one of my favorites. All of a sudden R&B felt like the perfect soundtrack to my afternoon. A cool, air-conditioned theatre and smooth, rich music I already knew by heart? Yes, please. What better sign from the Universe could I have gotten than this incredibly overt, specific message as to where I was supposed to be? A literal ticket to my afternoon's destination!
I leaned down to pick up the ticket, and before my fingers even touched the ground, I had the obvious epiphany. This wasn't my Broadway ticket to keep! Someone - who in all likelihood does not go to Broadway shows several times a week as I do, and who might not have another chance to see Memphis or any other show of its caliber - had shelled out $120 for that seat. Somewhere, this person was on his or her way to the theatre, frantically digging through a bag to locate the precious paper. Even if it was someone who goes to the theatre all the time... who was I to take what they had paid for? It was clear: the ticket hadn't been presented to me so I could USE it. It had been presented to me so I could RETURN it.
I grasped it in my hand and marched straight to the Shubert Theatre (not even turning to look at Juniors - so much for cheesecake!). A large crowd had already formed as audience members lined up to go in for the matinee. I was worried that I might have trouble getting to the ticket-seller, but if I've learned one lesson in my years of Broadway obsession, it's how to navigate a box office! So I waited my turn at the window, and quietly turned the ticket over to the man inside.
