Don’t have a ticket? There’s always a way

We’re sitting in the condo. We’ve already seen one film, a 9 a.m. press screening of “Chrystal,” a Billy Bob Thornton feature that makes me feels as if I’ve been slapped by the entire cast of “Hee Haw.” We’ve had lunch, though, and we’re up for more, namely a 3 p.m. movie. At least Mary Pat is. Trouble is, we have no tickets. And that is a problem.

So we head out, me in full pessimist mode, and arrive at The Egyptian Theatre at a quarter past 2. We go and find the wait-list line, which is reserved for those plebians who didn’t have the sense, or ability, to get tickets in advance. MP is impatient, as always, so she takes off for the theater entrance, looking for someone who just might be wanting to sell a couple of extra tickets. I stand alone.

Well, not alone, exactly. At 2:27 p.m. I’m stuck at the dead end of the line, waiting to get a numbered voucher that will show what my status is. See, I have to QUALIFY for a real ticket. We all do. Which is why everyone is standing around, wondering whether there will be enough seats for us all. And we’re not waiting in comfort. The tunnel in which we are lined up is as cold as an ice box, and the feeling is amplified by the fluorescent lights overhead. My hands go numb, but not too numb to write. Time passes.

When the vouchers are handed out, only the first 50 get them. I’m a few bodies back. Damn. And as the minutes go by, it begins to look bad. The line moves slowly, though, and by 2:51 I finally get awarded two vouchers. I look down at them: numbers 54 and 55. Still not looking good. But just three minutes before the movie is scheduled to begin, I’m finally there, handing over $20 for two tickets. And that is when MP shows up at the top of the stairs. “I bought a ticket already,” she says. The ticket seller smiles and hands me back a Hamilton.

I turn and run up the stairs. Then MP and I race to the front door. I hand over the ticket — by now I can’t wait to get rid of it — duck inside, run down to where we usually sit —front row on the far left — and… there is no one there! After all that effort, that worry, our regular seats are ours for the taking. I sit down, my hand frozen, anxiety having cut two more days off the end of my life. MP is happy, though. And I think, not for the first time: Just another day at Sundance.