An Early Morning Wait

What was surprising when I turned the leafy corner at the Carter Barron was how many folks were already lined up. It was 10:30 am, Sunday morning. I was number 61. At 12:00, the box office would open to hand out coveted tickets to the final free performance of "A Midsummer Night's Dream." Shakespeare isn't my favorite read, but this is the summer of discovery. Thus, I pulled on a straw hat, opened the Post, and began to wait.

Not too surprising the crowd. Lots of ol' fartsy Cleveland Park types. Dupont Circle was clearly represented, and I overheard talk about Cheverly and Takoma Park. Within seconds, the conversation turned to real estate and I cringed. While I'm thrilled for the city's renaissance, I'm bitter I'm priced out of the market. Is Washington for natives anymore? A future post...

The line itself reflected the market: every two or three minutes, the line became longer, distance between the end and the box office greater, and the crowd antsier. Glad I wasn't working on CP time, as I turned and saw folks disappearing around the bend and into the brush. But not with the same intentions as #60, who tried to creep into the woods nonchalantly. When he walked past a parked car, I noticed the empty bottle with his things and made the connection.

That was the big excitement of the wait, and finally, noon showed up, jumped to the front of the line, and we got going. We folded up our chairs, scooped up books, papers, and bagels. And trudged to the counter. Friendly faces shuffled us to the windows, reminded us of no glass bottled, and invited us to return a few hours later, for "A Midsummer's Night Dream." Was it worth it?