In last week’s column, I mentioned that I love it when my children buy me tickets as a gift rather than more stuff. An hour after I finished writing on Tuesday, my son called to say, “What are you doing next Saturday?” When I replied that we had no plans, he said, “Hold that – I’ll get back to you.”
Then he called my daughter. Together they bought theater tickets for my birthday. When he called back, he said, “It’s a matinee of Moulin Rouge, the musical at Shea’s Buffalo. I was able to get handicapped seating for you and Richard. Check it out on Ticketmaster.”
I was thrilled. “That’s a really nice birthday weekend. Thank you soooo much!” What a delightful thought!
Richard and I hadn’t been away since a family Boston trip in May, We decided to make a weekend out of it. We made a nice dinner reservation, then booked the hotel.
“Well, if we’re spending the night, we should plan something fun for Sunday,” I said. Richard agreed with whatever the birthday girl wanted. He’s nice that way.
The birthday girl wanted to see the newly refurbished Albright-Knox Museum. It had been 25 years since my last trip. I’d heard that the new buildings and restoration of the old one are spectacular. Since I’m all about restoring old things – like knees and memories – we booked that online also.
We both took our canes and I was wearing my latest fashionable accessory, a portable oxygen tank. Added to the cane and white hair, it gives off a serious party animal vibe.
We left Saturday morning with great anticipation. Richard pulled into Tim Horton’s in Cassadaga for coffee and apple fritters. We were in vacation mode. I handed him my credit card for the weekend because we like to stack up those miles.
After arriving at Shea’s, and very anxious to get to a bathroom, my cell phone rang. When I saw my son’s phone number, I answered, “Hi, we’re just parking for the show.”
“Are you in Buffalo?” he asked. When I said yes, he replied, “Uh, Mom. There’s a problem. Have you looked at your tickets?”
I opened my phone, where I’d transferred them from Ticketmaster. “Yes, here they are. Row 33.”
“Mom, check the date.”
“November 4th?! W-h-a-a-a-t? Oh no, they’re for next week?” And there we were. I told him we had planned a whole birthday weekend, and had three other reservations. When I hung up and told Richard, we mutually moaned. Turns out my next Saturday is a week earlier than my son’s next Saturday.
I sat in the parking lot still thinking about getting into Shea’s Ladies Room without a ticket. Bart called back. “Go to the box office and throw yourself on their mercy. They’ll probably help you.”
I did. They didn’t. We were turned away because the tickets were purchased through Ticketmaster. “There’s nothing we can do,” the booth saleswoman said. It was 10 minutes to show time. And I still had to get to The Necessary.
A sophisticated, smart-looking employee was blocking the hallway to the rest rooms. She asked for my ticket. I gave her the 15-second version of what happened, that we had driven in from Pennsylvania, and because of that I REALLY HAD TO USE THE FACILITY. I smiled a lot, but frankly I think the white hair/oxygen/cane combo did the trick. She let me pass, and said, “Let me check on those tickets for you.” I gave her my phone.
When I returned, five minutes from curtain time, she was standing with Julie, the box office supervisor. Julie had copied all the ticketing information, returned my phone, and handed me tickets for Row 9! “The best I had left,” she offered. Unbelievably, she then ran the half block to the parking lot, found Richard, and ran back. I couldn’t believe our luck. She was wonderful.
The show was terrific – fabulous dancing, spectacular voices, beautiful sets and costumes. Great Fun! We thanked Julie profusely as we left. It seemed inadequate.
About ten minutes later and five blocks away, my phone rang. It was Julie. “I have your credit card. If you can drive back to the theater, I’ll meet you out front.” WHAT?!
“I didn’t use my card,” I said to Richard. How could she have it?
“I’ve got it,” he said, reaching for his shirt pocket. He didn’t, of course. It fell out of his pocket when he bent down for my oxygen. Whoever found it, turned it in.
“But I never gave Julie my cell number,” I told him.
When we met her, Julie explained that she had written down all the purchaser’s info when she did the ticket exchange. She called Bart in Annapolis, Maryland, and he gave her my cell number.
You know, when you have an employee like that, you treasure her. She’s irreplaceable. She made my birthday weekend one to remember. I’ll look for her any Saturday.
Just not next Saturday.
Marcy O’Brien can be reach at moby.32@hotmail.com
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