I Had It Comin'

I'm waiting in line to, fingers crossed, hustle my way into today's taping of the Daily Show. My palms are sweaty, my feet are starting to ache, and the man next to me hasn't spoken a word of English since I hiked my way here from the train station a mile away. It's go time.

This past weekend was one filled with a lot of productivity and serendipity - a deadly duo. I ended up working on Friday since there were practically floods in the forecast, a good call on my part, since the weatherman held up and caricatures weren't gonna happen. No siree, bob. 

I don't know if it's the city or the weather, but I got off work around 7 and felt wired. As in, invincible. I wasn't quite ready to truck it back to Jersey, but I didn't really have any plans. Over a cup of bubble tea that has changed my entire outlook on wet-leaf flavored beverages, I had an epiphany. 

See, Broadway is a lot like most businesses in which at a certain point, they get borderline desperate to make a profit. Thanks to the interwebs I was able to look up which shows still had seats for the night - at a tenth of the cost. 

Boom! Right there in web-friendly font laid before my eager eyes seven letters that almost spelled out home: C-H-I-C-A-G-O. 27 dollars, standing room only. Sold. 

I'd seen late night airings of the musical almost every summer on television. I'm ninety percent sure "Cellblock Tango" was the most popular choice for all female group ensemble musical theatre at every one of my high school speech contests. But nothing beats seeing it all come to life for practically free, except for maybe catching a show for... Absolutely free. 

Somewhere along the road between casually pinning to obsessively following boards, I stumbled across a list of things to do in NYC. I'm aware of how nearly every sitcom since the beginning of time takes place here, and it makes me feel like a big deal when I recognize the street corners and neighborhoods in the latest season of How I Met Your Mother (no spoilers, por favor, all this drama at work over the season finale has me trying to catch up like it's nobody's business). So with all of the filming going on it's pretty easy to catch a scene being directed. But I don't exactly have the free time to just wander the city looking for camera, nor do I have the necessary navigational skills, as I continue to prove to myself. A girl can dream? 

Luckily for me, there exists websites that dole out free tickets to the obsessive few. And if there's one thing I'm good at: it's refreshing a computer screen. I've been on a script's twitter updates like an unhealthy scoop of peanut butter on my spoon, and one magical evening the stars aligned, the clouds parted, and Jon Stewart himself appeared before me with a free ticket to his show.

So now here I am, with an email confirmation of a spot in line. There's twenty people ahead of me, and they don't start handing out the actual tickets for another hour. I'm starving for another one of NYC's best grilled chreese SHROOM from The Melt Shop, the group of people behind me aren't sharing their potato chips, but I'm having trouble containing my squeals and couldn't be more ecstatic to be here.