Your heart pounds excitedly. You relevé to see above the other couple hundred heads in the crowd. After years of dreaming about seeing Broadway shows on the regular, you're living in New York and can take the ACE line 6 stops uptown to play the lottery. Tickets used to drain your parents' wallet, but now, with your residency you can afford a weekend gamble because, after all, you can just come up and play next week.
You turn nervous and jittery to your friend Steph. This is his first time playing the lotto, this your second. You recall the last time you played lotto, how very many people there were and how even with three people, none of your names were called. You dial down your expectations realizing there's probably twice as many people here vying for coveted front row and box seats to the year's biggest blockbuster. Still you can't help but be hopeful and pray to Heavenly Father that you'll get to enjoy this most delightful of delights.
The man with the megaphone begins calling names. You clap as lucky patrons scream with joy even though a little monster inside you gets increasingly bitter and worrisome as seats disappear. States are shouted out: California! Indiana! Massachusetts! Minnesota! New Jersey...(The great state of no-smiles always gets a groan.) You wonder to yourself if it helps that you put WA down instead of NY. Maybe they're nicer to out-of-towners; people from far reaches of the globe may only get to see this show once. Your suspicions are suddenly confirmed as places like Japan and Israel are called. (Seriously, how many people from Israel are at this lottery?) This game has got to be rigged. Somehow they sort through the whole pile of cards in under a minute seeking the candidates most likely never to return. You rue the day you moved to New York. Even though you put WA down on your card, somehow they know you live here and will come back religiously until you get a ticket. You'll never win lottery now.
The front row is completely gone. Only 8 seats left which means only 4 names called since most everyone asks for 2 tickets. Just as you tilt your head to the ground swearing you'll never convert to Mormonism, you hear, "From the great state of Washington, Ben Bartels!" An uncharacteristically manly grunt of "YES" is emitted from your ecstatic larynx. Steph pats you on the back as you worm your way through the crowd to the doors leading inside the theater. You can't believe it. You can practically feel the gleeful hormones surging through your body. You make a mental note to ask one of your Mormon friends back home to convert you. Hopefully it's not too late to go on a mission.
The rest of the day you run on essence of whimsy. Life is beautiful and everything laughable. Jealous texts from friends reading "FU****!!!!" or "F*** YOOOOOUUUU!!!" help you appreciate what a blessing it is to see this show for such a low price. The world's a divine miracle. The show is fabulous. People are literally 15 feet away from your face. Some ensemble members glance up at you from time to time. The speakers are right in front of your face but you don't care; by the time you're 60, doctors will probably be able to repair eardrums. The giddiness lasts for the rest of the week. After the haze is over, you wonder if you'll ever be able to win the lottery again...
To your amazement, next week, it happens again! Your friend Nik wins the Wicked lotto and your friend Steph graciously allows you to see it with him as you've been long anticipating the day you could see Teal Wicks in person. You revel in the amazingness that is winning the lottery again and seeing a long-running Broadway show front row with someone you admire playing the lead. You think your luck has probably run out.
But then you and your friend Haylin decide you wanted a gay night out so you chance playing the Priscilla lottery. You win and are then witness to the gayest thing you've ever seen on stage. Your luck is uncanny. Your status update is met with a long line of angry comments. You think this is probably the last time this'll happen.
Well, you were sort of right. Colleen and you went lottery hopping and ended up at Godspell which plays half an hour later than the other lotteries. The lottery has all been called so you go to the front to ask if they have standing room tickets. The ticket woman tells you to "Hold on a sec" and proceeds to usher the winners inside. To your surprise and bewilderment, she realized she forgot to give away the last pair of seats so she unceremoniously hands over the ticket slips proclaiming "Winners". You see Godspell up close and on cushions. Spit flies into your face. Colleen is actually pulled on stage by a very hot Jesus to play pictionary! You start to think fate really likes you or maybe God is once again trying to tell you something...
I hope you enjoyed my second-person account of my first lottery win!...and the subsequent slew of shudder-inducing, murder-inciting wins. (Maybe I should play the real lottery.) In case you couldn't tell, I won box seats for The Book of Mormon on Broadway with my friend Steph. And by the way, that was our first week in the city... After that I won all the other Broadway lotteries. Boo-ya bitches. Yes, I'm gloating. Yes, it was phenomenal. Yes, you should reconsider being my friend, either to partake of my amazing luck or to forever upturn your nose at me. Now here comes the usual explicating.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the New York theatre scene, and may someday want to visit there, here's the rundown on discount tickets. There are lots of discount seats. You can check out a number of sites including playbill.com, groupon.com, studentrush.org, or tkts.org. (There are several other ones depending on the occasion.) The easiest discount tickets to get are the rush seats which become available the day of a performance when the box office opens. There are a limited number of seats and the prices hover around the $25-$40 area. Most shows do general rush (available to all the public) but some only allow student rush. If a show is sold-out, you can pay about $30 to rent a little space in the back of the house; this is called standing room only.
The lottery, which I described above, is something only the really popular shows do. Basically, they make so much money and sell so many seats that they can afford to sell the front row for about $32 a pop. Currently there are 5 lotteries that I'm aware of: Wicked, Godspell, Rent, Priscilla Queen of the Desert, and The Book of Mormon. The lottery is open to the public two and a half hours before the show starts and closes two hours prior. At this time, they pull names at random and the lucky winners can either request 1 or 2 seats at the discount price as long as they have cash (some allow credit) and relevant ID. Oh, the no-brainer: YOU HAVE TO SHOW UP TO HEAR YOUR NAME CALLED. (Honestly, I don't know why you would go to the trouble to enter your name and then leave. Stupid.)
And that is the very truncated guide to Broadway show hopping! If you would like more details, feel free to ask, provided you know who I am and how to reach me. (In later posts I will give more details on show tix and such. Stay tuned.) I promise I was just as excited as you would've been had you played these lotteries.
By the way, another blog post is coming later today. You should read it. Tell your friends.
Devilishly,
Jamin
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