This morning, I took Aurora Delacroix to In the Heights at the Hippodrome in Baltimore. My school was offering steeply discounted tickets for students to the show. As you know, I happen to be a student and Aurora happened to really want to see this show.
Problem 1: Events involved with CCBC invariably skirt disaster and catastrophe. If they say a bus to an event will leave at 8, it will really leave at 9 (as was the case for the leadership retreat I went to in January and which I said I’d blog about but didn’t oh well, kthxbai.). Knowing this, Aurora and I said no when Lisa at the Office of Student Life asked if we’d be taking the bus.
Lisa handed us our tickets and we turned to go – until she said: “These are just ‘reservation tickets.’ The teacher will have the real tickets and you’ll get them from her at the theater.”
O-kay. THIS would end well.
I wake up this morning at six, after a harrowing night of Stolen Cat trying to burrow a hole in my chest – so that she can be closer to my warm, loving, tasty heart, you see – and nightmares of not getting into the show because I didn’t fill out the schools health form (oh, but when I dream about necromancy and cannibalism, I sleep deep and easy. My head is a fucked up place to be sometimes. And I DID print out and fill out the health forms…which they never bothered to collect. Right. Whatever.).
Aurora and I get to the Hippodrome around 9. We are entirely too excited since neither of us have ever been to the Hippodrome before (though supposedly my Pop-pop danced there in the vaudeville shows a million years ago) and we were there to see a Broadway show about Latinos. Who doesn’t like to see their ethnicity win Tony Awards?
But when we get there, we’re met by another CCBC student who chose to drive themselves and arrived early. She’s in an argument with some of the Hippodrome staff. She’s trying to get in with the reservation ticket, and they don’t know anything about the college coming in a group, and they’re beginning to think CCBC is selling scalp tickets to students or something.
Let me just say that I love CCBC. It has some great teachers and upper admin really cares about the students. But the line of communication is of such a great degree of fail that offices, departments, and students alike pretty regularly take advantage of the school and everyone involved. In short, I could totally believe that Student Life would sell forged tickets to students and pocket the proceeds. Harsh, but true.
I manage to diffuse the situation with Aurora’s help. These are reservation tickets, the teacher will exchange them for real tickets whenever he/she gets here, didn’t take bus, no clue when they’re getting here, look I don’t make the rules, that’s just what they told me, is that a Starbucks over there, okay we’ll just wait. The nice staff at the theater then validated my own thoughts that this was a really stupid and needlessly complicated plan. Why couldn’t someone from the school just call and tell them to expect the reservation tickets and set aside real ones at Will Call for when people showed up? That way, no one has to sit outside in the seat-free box office and wait for the teacher and the bus. I don’t know. I just go to school there.
Aurora and I plopped at the Starbucks on the corner for more coffee and second breakfast (1st cherry danish, 2nd cheese and fruit) and I watched for the appearance of a CCBC bus. No such bus appeared, but we eventually gave up and walked back across the street to see if SOMETHING could be arranged so I hadn’t wasted $75.
Amid a throng of private high school students in plaid short skirts and knee socks, we forced our way to a door and asked if any CCBC students were there. The staff was great and understanding and worked very hard to make some sense of the mess. At that moment, however, I finally saw one of the teachers from the leadership retreat in January. SHE HAD TICKETS. Doors opened, choirs of angels sang, the head seraph played a bitchin’ guitar solo.
Not really. But I DID get orchestra seats to my new favorite musical. More on that later…maybe…if I feel like it.
Maria from the Barrio