The event of an independent young lady going alone to see her friend in an opera held such promise, that it is no wonder we are left with such disappointment between expectations and reality. What could have been a contemporary take on the classic, chic woman in a modern world instead turned into an awkward circus of anxiety and apprehension.
Take, for example, her preparations for the evening. One could hardly believe her inner-mantra I am independant! Here me roar! as she flailed about from room to room, trying on everything from pantsuits to lace trimmed dresses while screaming to her mother “Can you iron this shirt for me?” Though she did manage the drive to the Kennedy Center without bumbling up directions, one must question her confidence as she swerved into the first parking lot she could find. Upon exiting her car, she did not even attempt to look for signs to the entrance and allow for a graceful promenade, but instead interrupted 3 parking garage attendees who, in turn, pointed to the signs. This pattern of blatant stupidity followed her up the elevator, then back down again to the correct level, and then to the wrong ticket counter where a lady looked on her with pity while directing her to the right place.
At this point, our herione, upon finding herself unfashionably early, purchased a water to stash in her purse and a plastic cup for coffee, all sold to her by a man who explained she should keep her cup for refills. As she leaves the counter, the man tells her to “Enjoy the show” to which she replies “You too!” unintentionally rubbing her fun-filled night in the face of the man who would surely stay behind the cash register all evening.
After many failed attempts at jamming a full-sized water bottle into a miniature purse, our dear ticket holder decided her only option was to drink as much of the water as possible, which caused a last minute rush to find the lady’s room. She travels down two escalators, dropping (and breaking) her plastic coffee cup along the way, and escapes into a bathroom to feel a moment’s relief from the eyes of the crowd, who by this time (she is sure) are talking of nothing else than the weird girl who came to the opera alone.
Finally, she takes her seat and the opera begins. For reasons we cannot assess, (perhaps from the realities of her permanent awkward state of being?), her palms start sweating. This would usually present no outward problems, except that she has attended this particular opera with skunk hands (see post below). Just as fragrant oil may be heated over a candle, wafting a house with pleasant aromatherapy, so too did her warm hands emit the putrid smell of skunk. One may conclude that it was not, in actuality, as bad as she imaged as she sat upon her hands on the velvet cushioned seat. But one may also wonder why the amiable lady who sat beside her during the first Act did not return after intermission.
The evening did manage to end on a good note, though through no efforts of our ticket holder. She meets up with her friend at the end of the opera where they discuss the performance and catch up on each other’s lives. Two independent women, out late on a weeknight for the sake of culture and friendship. One only wishes the class of the evening had bled through to the ticket holder, or that at the very least, she realized that her foibles and awkwardness were most assuredly self-invented. Perhaps she figured it out later…