One of Those Moments

7 pm curtain for the theatre performance Sunday evening.  As the theatre is within walking distance – these days that means anywhere in the City- I strolled there, stopping to buy water, looking in the windows; the evening wasn’t warm but it was snow free and clear.  Arrive within half a block of the theatre and am surprised at not seeing ‘mill-ers’ and other attendees out on the sidewalk.  It is 20 minutes prior to show time, a bit early for arrival, but there should be some others there milling about.  Walk up and try the door, it doesn’t open.  All is quiet.  The clock above the theatre – as it is in an old church building, is slowly working it’s way toward 6:45 and things are not adding up correctly.  I ring the bell.  The bell continues to ring by itself.  The first real question to myself is, what do the others know that I don’t.  As the bell continues to ring,  I pull out my ticket-exchange voucher.  I look at the time, then the address.  Wrong theatre.  I am on 20th Street.  The performance is on 55th and 2 blocks East of where I am standing and now it is 6:45.  I have dozens of feet to walk to the main thoroughfare heading north.  I pass by two men shoveling snow from around their hidden car, and exchange pleasantries, I am in a hurry but don’t feel it and so arrive at the corner.  Three occupied taxis pass.  The fourth one reacts to my ‘hail’ and stops.  As I climb into the back, I ask him ‘How quickly can we get to 55th and 7th, I have to be there by 7.’  He answers something pleasant and I am shocked to realize that this is my first local-born-cab-driver in the longest time.  I have become accustomed to the drivers having a non-English-as-a-mother-tongue-accent.  I’ve learned when racing the clock to a deadline, don’t watch the clock.  Don’t even think about it.  So I leave the driving to him, only suggesting that he take 56 so that I can save time getting out on the east side of the street.  The result.  He stops at the curb, I pay, get out, walk another long half block, stop at the box office, get my ticket, jog down two flights of stairs, and before the final slam of the doors am shown into the theatre via a back entrance to a great empty seat as the play opens.  I don’t know how it was possible.

A Sad Day

here at the office.  Had to fire my proof-reader, editor, make-sure-there-are-no-omissions-person this morning, when I saw that he did not catch the left out word ‘buried’ in today’s post.