Stallion's Tickets

Last night, we were watching the news, and they said that Wicked tickets were going on sale this morning at 7:00 AM at the Capitol Theatre Box Office in downtown Salt Lake City. I saw Wicked in the Land of Languatron early this year, so I wasn't all that concerned for myself, but Mrs. Cornell has been dying to see it forever, and both my daughters have memorized every note of the CD. So I decided that I'd get up bright and early to get to the box office right at 7:00 AM. 

Apparently, several other people had the same idea. Lots of people, in fact. Many of them had started camping out the night before. When I got there right after seven in the morning, I started to walk to the end of the line, which extended to the end of the block. And then around the block. And then around the next block. And the next... 

It took me twenty minutes to walk to the end of the line. 

I stood there for about five minutes or so before somebody from the show came out and said that we would never get to the front of the line before 10:00 AM, when the tickets went on sale online, so we'd best just go home and take our chances on the Internet. So I did, and, of course, the server was so busy that I couldn't get through. I called the perpetually busy phone line to no avail. 

No Wicked for Stallion, alas. 

I have no room to complain, though. For the past few weeks, the Cornells have done quite well in procuring difficult-to-get tickets. Just one week ago, one of my clients called and told me he had two extra courtside seats to the Jazz game that he couldn't use, and would I be interested in taking them off his hands?

Ummm, yes. 

Mrs. Cornell was unable to go, so I took my oldest daughter Cleta, who was impressed that she was close enough to the Jazz bench that she could hear head coach Jerry Sloan swearing like a sailor. It's a very different game when you get that close to the action. We were sitting right under the basket, and if I was close enough to trip the Toronto Raptors every time they went in for a layup. I didn't need to do that, though, because the Jazz smoked 'em. And my daughter got a chance to have the Jazz Bear put a rubber glove on her head. Mrs. Cornell watched the end of the game at home and called us to ask us to flail our arms and legs when the camera got close to us. Which we did. And she could see us! My feet on ESPN! Good times. 

These tickets came just a couple of weeks or so after another work associate invited me to accompany him to Rice-Eccles Stadium to watch the University of Utah embarrass BYU in the annual "Holy War" football game, which is the hottest rivalry in the state. I didn't know BYU was going to be so badly embarrassed, so I foolishly wore my Cougar Blues and feared for my life as the Ute Reds outnumbered me by approximately one billion to one. I took my son Corbin - again, Mrs. Cornell was unavailable - and we watched as BYU quarterback decided to start throwing flawless passes to the guys on the other team. 

It got interesting, though, when I texted my brother, because I knew he had come to the game with some bigwigs, and I wanted to see if I could bump into him. Turns out he was seated in the President's Box, along with the Governor of Utah, the President of the University of Utah, an LDS apostle - the late Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, who was there just a few days before he passed away- and the Second Counselor in the LDS Church First Presidency, Dieter F. Uchtdorf. We snuck in and sat in the back, and I felt compelled to take off my BYU threads for fear of offending the party I was crashing. 

It was a whole lot of fun. My brother introduced my seven-year-old son to President Uchtdorf, and they took a picture together. President Uchtdorf tried to stay neutral, but when pressed, he whispered, "It's no accident that the pinstripes on my shirt are blue." 

President Uchtdorf couldn't have been more gracious or charming. 

We went back down to the plebeian seats after halftime, only to discover that sitting directly two rows ahead of us were my brother-in-law who had driven up from California along with another family friend. We decided to take them up to the President's Box, too, only they hassled them for not having the requisite armbands that allow you to be in such stratified company. (I had no such armband, either, but I'd manage to sneak my way in earlier in the game.) As the security guards started to hassle them, I came out and explained that everything was all right, because they were with me. Since the guards had seen me fraternizing with everyone up in the box, they let it slide. 

So, karmically speaking, I can't really complain about not getting Wicked tickets. 

And yet I complain still. (I'm not a very good person.)