Now, by popular demand....
[This is something that I wrote a few months ago. Of the five people who read my journal, I already sent it to 2 or 3 of you by e-mail. But in order that all the world may be blessed by it, I now present it once again.]
For some Star Wars fans, getting the tickets for Episode III was as much adventure as the movie. That was certainly true in my case, though I think my experience was different from most Americans. All the theaters on my side of Delhi sold out a day in advance, but late in the evening the website said that a theater way out in West Delhi would be screening the movie. The first show was at 10:20am, so I thought if I went there reasonably early, I would have a good chance of getting a ticket. So, I got there at 8:50, and found that the box office doesn’t open till 10. I had hoped to have the tickets in hand so I could camp out for an hour free of stress, but it still seemed to be no problem. There was not another Star Wars fan in sight. The theater itself is state-of-the-art, but it’s in a more run-down section of town. Lots of people were cutting through the courtyard on their way to work (even on Saturday), and many of them looked like they held manual labor type jobs. I had to shoo away beggar children several times.
Around 9:45 I moved from my bench and stood right in front of the box office window, which still had the shutters down. A few minutes later a few more people arrived and formed a sort of line, which wasn’t really a line. Behind the shutters, it looked like there would be about six ticket windows, and no one knew which one they would actually open. But I stationed myself in front center, right along the counter. I could see that none of these people were real fans. There were no storm troopers, no wookies, no Darth Vadars, no drag Amidalas. They were just out to pass the time on a Saturday morning. I thought, no way in heck am I letting these people get ahead of me.
It’s 10:10, and no sign of life behind the ticket windows. The crowd has pressed forward and is standing all along the counter beside me, not because they care about Star Wars, but because they’re Delhiites. At 10:12, the shutter finally goes up, and a clerk turns on one computer, just to my left. The whole mass of people surges toward that point. A woman with two teenage sons is trying to push past two men in front of her. A guy to my right is trying to squeeze past me along the counter, reaching his arm past me toward the ticket window. I plant my foot against the wall so he can’t get around me, and then force my elbow onto the counter to cut him off even more. I’m feeling a little tense, but everyone still seems good natured; it’s not personal, strictly business. It seems they’ve sent a young Paduwan trainee to run the ticket counter this morning, because he sells one ticket and then crashes the computer. A manager comes over to help him, and I can see them rebooting the computer. It’s 10:15, and I want to buy a drink and use the restroom before the movie starts. Eventually they decide to open up the ticket window to my right. The guy who was trying to push past me is now in prime position. I don’t really mind, as long as he doesn’t take too long placing his order. The clerk is printing his ticket. My hand is already pushed through the slot, nearly up to the elbow, holding out a hundred rupee note. But now the woman with the two sons is trying to push past me from the left. She reaches her hand through the upper slot, the one you are supposed to talk through, and calls out, “Three, Star Wars.” I take both my hands, firmly grab her arm and pull it back out of the window. Then I reinsert my hand and say calmly, “One, Star Wars.”
For some Star Wars fans, getting the tickets for Episode III was as much adventure as the movie. That was certainly true in my case, though I think my experience was different from most Americans. All the theaters on my side of Delhi sold out a day in advance, but late in the evening the website said that a theater way out in West Delhi would be screening the movie. The first show was at 10:20am, so I thought if I went there reasonably early, I would have a good chance of getting a ticket. So, I got there at 8:50, and found that the box office doesn’t open till 10. I had hoped to have the tickets in hand so I could camp out for an hour free of stress, but it still seemed to be no problem. There was not another Star Wars fan in sight. The theater itself is state-of-the-art, but it’s in a more run-down section of town. Lots of people were cutting through the courtyard on their way to work (even on Saturday), and many of them looked like they held manual labor type jobs. I had to shoo away beggar children several times.
Around 9:45 I moved from my bench and stood right in front of the box office window, which still had the shutters down. A few minutes later a few more people arrived and formed a sort of line, which wasn’t really a line. Behind the shutters, it looked like there would be about six ticket windows, and no one knew which one they would actually open. But I stationed myself in front center, right along the counter. I could see that none of these people were real fans. There were no storm troopers, no wookies, no Darth Vadars, no drag Amidalas. They were just out to pass the time on a Saturday morning. I thought, no way in heck am I letting these people get ahead of me.
It’s 10:10, and no sign of life behind the ticket windows. The crowd has pressed forward and is standing all along the counter beside me, not because they care about Star Wars, but because they’re Delhiites. At 10:12, the shutter finally goes up, and a clerk turns on one computer, just to my left. The whole mass of people surges toward that point. A woman with two teenage sons is trying to push past two men in front of her. A guy to my right is trying to squeeze past me along the counter, reaching his arm past me toward the ticket window. I plant my foot against the wall so he can’t get around me, and then force my elbow onto the counter to cut him off even more. I’m feeling a little tense, but everyone still seems good natured; it’s not personal, strictly business. It seems they’ve sent a young Paduwan trainee to run the ticket counter this morning, because he sells one ticket and then crashes the computer. A manager comes over to help him, and I can see them rebooting the computer. It’s 10:15, and I want to buy a drink and use the restroom before the movie starts. Eventually they decide to open up the ticket window to my right. The guy who was trying to push past me is now in prime position. I don’t really mind, as long as he doesn’t take too long placing his order. The clerk is printing his ticket. My hand is already pushed through the slot, nearly up to the elbow, holding out a hundred rupee note. But now the woman with the two sons is trying to push past me from the left. She reaches her hand through the upper slot, the one you are supposed to talk through, and calls out, “Three, Star Wars.” I take both my hands, firmly grab her arm and pull it back out of the window. Then I reinsert my hand and say calmly, “One, Star Wars.”