I must get on that ship?

We sat down in our seats. We were in the front row of an old Broadway theatre, so sitting in the front row literally meant you had to watch the show looking up the entire time. We were so close up that, although we were in the front row, our sight lines were awful. We were so close that, in order to light the edge of the stage, you had to light us. Everyone could see us, from the chorine to the patron in the back row of the balcony. To the common person’s eye, you would think we must have known someone to get these seats. To the theatre insider’s eye, you knew we paid twenty dollars a seat.

Let me rewind. Nikki came busting into our dorm room. “Titanic: The Musical just posted their closing date. We’ve got to go!”  Titanic: The Musical wasn’t a particularly epic musical. It was extremely expensive to produce, literally using hydraulics on the stage to make the ship look like it’s sinking. The music wasn’t very memorable and was going to be very hard to retrofit the show for touring purposes. The Broadway production already survived one theatre move. Now, Disney needed the theatre and there was no stopping them. Even with Leonardo DiCaprio breaking your heart at the local Lowes, this production was doomed. 

Nikki continued, “There’s two more shows tomorrow. Let’s sleep out for rush tickets!” Ok. Quick history lesson for those of you who only know the comfort and convenience of digital ticket lotteries today like Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen, back in the olden days of the late 1990s, there were no digital ticket lotteries. Hell, there were no iPhones. (I know, to this day, I wonder how we survived.). There was “Student Rush”, where you had to show up to the box office in person (gasp) with your Student ID. Before that, you had “Rush Tickets”. Rush tickets meant that you had to get to the box office at some god-awful time to beat out the public, other students and general Broadway groupies (the worst) for a shot at 10-20 completely unsellable tickets with shitty sight lines.

“How about we sleep out too? How much fun would that be!”, Nikki continued with a shriek. Nooo. It’s true, we went to college in a Giuliani New York. Yes, it was safer. However, it was still New York! If I’m sleeping out on the cold concrete, battling rats, the homeless and god-knows-what for warmth, then I’m either doing it for play-off tickets, Saturday Night Live, or the Rolling Stones. I’m not staying out for Titanic: The Musical. 

Rewind a little further, because this is a story from the 1990s, so why not tell it Tarantino-style? I actually had more freedom than most only-children my age. I lived my live like an episode of The Monkees. However, with that came great responsibility. My mother always taught me, “if you and your friends are gonna do something dumb, you have to take care of them.” My mom was apparently an Army Ranger in another life. You leave no man behind. Of course, as much as I thought this was a dumb idea, I was going to go with them to make sure they didn’t do anything dumb.

We left our dorm on the Upper West Side around one in the morning. We bundled up, because March in New York is still very cold. We grabbed some coffee, hot chocolate and tea from one of those amazing New York diners and headed down to the Theatre district. We walked of course. Walking in a pack above ground was always safer than taking the subway, even in Giuliani’s New York. 

Nikki, Dana and Amy were singing and cackling about how excited they were. Jenn and I contemplated if this would be considered justifiable homicide. We arrived at the theatre about 2 a.m. and of course there was absolutely no one else was there. The box office for the theatre would open about 10 am for the matinee. We had only eight hours to kill. Smartphones and social media had not been invented yet, so the only way to keep busy was to get in to trouble. 

There was a hot guy playing the lead, but that lead was not Jack Dawson. It was a character based on real-life survivor, Stoker Fred Barrett. Hmmm. Sounds sexy already? We girls of the 90s didn't find standards until our 40s.

Fast forward. Amy, Nikki and Dana were all a buzz. We were so close to the stage that our seats began to vibrate as the orchestra warmed up. The cacophony of instruments tuning filled the air. Jenn leaned back in her seat, trying to find a good position in which to take a nap. It was a great idea, but in the 1990s, especially in an old Broadway theatre, you did not have those sweet reclining seats like you have in cinemas today. They rocked back and forth on tight springs. Making matters worse, they squeaked loudly. Jenn, already suffering, became increasingly more restless. The struggle was real. 

As the theatre darkened, I noticed a commotion behind us as a couple was seated last minute. They looked like a boyfriend and girlfriend, and the boyfriend looked like the only person more disinterested in being there than Jenn and myself. I turned around to face the stage, as Jenn was still squeaking in her seat with Nikki scowling at her to stop. The boyfriend looked like someone should have asked him to blink if he needed to be saved.

Rewind. As the box office opened, I am borderline delirious. Jenn and I were the only native New Yorkers of the bunch. As the hours past, we let the others take naps as we kept watch. We let them, go as a group of course, to Duane Reade, as we held the spots in line, only with the promise that they would bring us back Starbucks from the new one that opened in Times Square. There was no stigma to Starbucks yet and our diner coffees were long gone. When Nikki, Dana and Amy returned, I made friends with multiple people in line, embarrassing Jenn to holy hell. I found someone I went to Theatre Tech class with freshman year and I was singing “The Lees of Old Virginia” from 1776. Isn’t that what you do when you sleep out for concert tickets? Nikki armed with her throw away camera started shooting. I might still have those pictures today.

With a thunderous downbeat of the Orchestra, the first cast members appeared on stage to begin the song, “There she is.” This is the “plate setter” of the musical if you catch my drift, where the audience discovers the magnificence of this ship and how they must get on it. We are introduced to all the characters in this sweeping opening number as they prepared to “sail on.” At this point, Jenn was sound asleep, and someone should have asked me to blink if I needed to be saved.

After the big finish and black out, there was a short scene. It was about someone who missed the ship. To this day, I remember this moment as if it happened yesterday. The rest of the play gets fuzzy fast. The guy shouts and waves at the departing ship, “Wait! Wait!” He throws the luggage down and bemoans, “Now what am I going to tell my friends back home?” To which my Stockholm syndrome compatriot behind me, whispered to his girlfriend in what seemed to be the loudest whisper recorded on record, “I dunno. How about that you lived?”

I might have been the only person who heard this. I busted out the most uncontrollable laugh I’ve ever mustered. We were fully lit, so everyone in the theatre, cast and crew included, saw me losing my mind. Nikki reached over a comatose Jenn and tried twisting my knee cap to get me to stop. 

I couldn’t. I laughed through Act One. I laughed as the girl hit the boyfriend repeatedly in the arm for starting this trouble. I laughed during intermission as I tried to relay to Nikki, Dana, Amy and Jenn (now awake) what they had missed. I laughed when the ship hit the iceberg all the way through to the lifeboats arriving in New York harbor.

I might remember nothing but the first 15 minutes of this dumb musical. I might feel no regret for ruining it for spectators around me. As the years went on, I even began to wonder if he ever said anything at all. Maybe, this was just all a joke in my head?

What I do remember is this. This was a day where I was supposed to protect my friends from doing dumb stuff, but I was probably the biggest idiot of all. We were trapped, fully lit in the front row, as I went berserk. It was one of the last greatest moments with college buddies before graduation. I compare all future experiences to it every day.