The following is an excerpt from a blog post by MyNorth’s Evan Perry. To read all of Evan’s post, check out his MyNorth Community Blog.
My girlfriend and I were already five minutes late to a National Writers Series’ symposium when we tiptoed across an ice-coated parking lot behind the City Opera House. We sneaked through Brew to the Opera House’s Front Street entrance, and—with two will-call tickets in hand—I set out in a polite jog up a long flight of stairs to the Opera House’s second story theater. Elise casually walked up the steps in tow despite my simultaneously encouraging and exasperated gaze from above. “I need to use the restroom,” she said when she finally crested the stairs.
Oh, the embarrassment of an interruptive, excuse-me-pardon-me entrance into the theater that awaited me! I waited; time ticking away. I hung my jacket on a rack near the bathrooms and snacked on a few complimentary Morsels-made mini-pastries—aptly named ‘George Lip-smackers’ in honor of the night’s speaker, George Packer—and then I counted the seconds. I snatched another pastry: a lemony, creamy number—quite good.
Elise finally escaped the restroom. We peaked our heads into the theater after one final Lip-smacker. An usher took our tickets and escorted us to our seats, which—Hallelujah!—required little knee swiveling from other audience members to reach. The two of us settled in for an evening of engrossing, intellectual musings, only to be met by a man on stage who was wearing a bathrobe.