Whilst running work errands last week, I found myself next to the Palace Theatre, most famous for being the current home of the Harry Potter and the Cursed Child play. It’s a massive production, featuring two three hour long parts, and it’s been on my bucket list for a whole year. The play is notoriously hard to get a ticket for- people all over the world queue online for hours waiting for batches of 250,000 tickets to be released, only to have them sell out within the day. On a whim, I popped in casually at lunchtime to see if I could score a set of returned tickets for…well, anytime. I wasn’t picky. Tickets sell out a year in advance and I’d take what I could get.
My optimism paid off, and the box office guy let me know a single pair of restricted seats had just become available for this past Sunday. After I got done internally shrieking a la Moaning Myrtle, and after I was reassured that the seat wasn’t that restricted, I was just going to miss an illusion or two from the seat, I gratefully paid just £20 each for Part I and II of the show. I couldn’t believe it! I had been trying to get HP tickets for TWENTY NINE Fridays (that’s since September, for you math nerds) through their Friday Forty, where they raffle off 40 tickets to the general public, and had never succeeded not once. When I asked the box office how many people participated in the Friday Forty each week, they said their guess was up to TEN THOUSAND PEOPLE from all around the world. Dang.
I showed up to the performance yesterday and everyone was so excited to be a part of history in this amazing way. You can instantly tell you’re part of something special, something only a select few will ever get to experience at this time and place, and I just felt so filled with gratitude I wanted to burst into tears. Or pee my pants. Either way, I was feeling a lil’ leaky.
I was so excited for my seat, which was in row E of the stalls (aka the floor seats, the best seats in the house!). But when I finally sat, I realized the box office guy had fibbed because a mother frikin giant pillar was blocking my view. I could only see 1/3 of the stage! This was a disaster! My restricted seats should have been sold as “for the blind only.”
At the first intermission an hour through the show, I channeled my inner divaliscious American and asked to see a manager. I knew the show was sold out, but I just couldn’t stay in that visually impaired seat a moment longer. The manager was SO helpful, and let me know I could move over to H12, a sold seat in the stalls that hadn’t been claimed. I ended up front and center! Of course, y’all already know nosy lil’ me Googled the seat price and it usually goes for £250. That’s a whopping $325 for my American friends.
For the remainder of Part I, I sat in my luxe seat among the rich and classy patrons of London and pretended like I belonged and like I didn’t just come from the Helen Keller seat. I left and came back at 6:30PM for part II, and had to ask again if H12 had claimed their ticket. They hadn’t, so I got comfortable and thought to myself, Dang, I could get used to this life of opulence.
And the play itself? IT WAS SO GOOD AND YOU NEED TO SEE IT. FLY TO LONDON AND SEE IT. TODAY. IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE AND EXISTENCE AND YOU WILL LOVE EVERY SECOND OF IT.
Dang. Life is good.