My friend, Kaia, and I went to The Moth in Boston last night, only to find that the show was the following night.
Tonight.
For the record, the date on my ticket was yesterday, October 27.
The email to which my ticket was attached read yesterday, October 27.
The event that was automatically added to my Google calendar after purchasing the tickets read yesterday, October 27.
Yet when Kaia and I finally arrived, the doors were locked, the venue was empty, and no one else was waiting by the doors.
This appears to be a conspiracy targeted solely at me.
Needless to say I was frustrated. Not only had we just spent 90 minutes on the road, driving to Boston, but the traffic and parking around the venue was the worst I’ve ever seen. We were forced to park more than a mile from the venue and speed-walk as fast as my hernia would allow to arrive on time.
Only to find the doors locked and the venue dark.
I was angry and upset. Not only had we wasted all that time on the road, but we would now be wasting an equal amount of time turning around and driving home. I had worked hard to craft a story perfect for the night’s theme, and I’d missed out on all the things that make my afternoons and evenings so delightful:
Dinner with the family. Reading to the kids. Talking with Elysha. Petting the cats. Reading. Writing. Maybe a game of poker or Exploding Kittens with Charlie. Holding Elysha’s hand as we try to squeeze in half an hour of television.
I hadn’t even seen Elysha before we hit the road.
I was so angry.
“It’ll make a great story,” Kaia said as we trudged back to the car.
“No, it won’t,” I said. “Nothing about this night will make a great story.”
As we climbed back into the car, we decided to work on the musical that Kaia and I are writing and will one day perform onstage. We haven’t found much time to work on the project lately, so maybe talking through some elements of the show would at least be a good use of our otherwise wasted time.
Fifteen minutes outside of Boston, we stopped at a rest area for gas and food. I planned on ordering my customary post-show vanilla shake and French fries, but as I approached the counter at McDonald’s, I couldn’t believe what I saw:
A sign advertising the McRib. It was back. The McRib. At the very moment I needed it most.
I was joyous.
The next 90 minutes passed in a blur as Kaia and I worked out the first half of our musical, beat by beat. We established the philosophy of the show. Identified sonic themes that would run throughout. Decided upon how each scene would be written and presented. Identified places in the show for songs, storytelling, props, and scenes.
Kaia taught me about principles of musicals that I had never learned.
I taught her about the comedic power of call backs.
Not really.
My goal had been to perform on that stage last night, telling a story about a student who holds a special place in my heart. I wanted to see my storytelling friends who will undoubtedly be there tonight. I wanted to do one of the things that I enjoy most in this world.
Instead, I spent four hours in a car with my friend. I ate a McRib while driving home – not an easy feat. I worked on a project that I am thrilled about creating and one day performing. Made more progress than ever before.
I’m still annoyed by this bizarre snafu in ticketing. Frustrated and disappointed that I won’t be onstage tonight, telling my story. Saddened that I lost an opportunity to take a stage and entertain.
I was right. Nothing about the night makes a great story.
But thanks to a limited time only menu item, the company of a friend, and time well spent working on something of meaning, it wasn’t bad either.
It doesn’t make for a great story, but it made for a productive, memorable night with a friend, and that’s not so bad.
