I am now working some days in the new area called The Advance and some days in Vince. The Advance just opened and has some great, edgy designers: Comme des Garcons, Rick Owens, Nocturne 22, and Sacai, to name a few. All are on the newly renovated fifth floor.
For the past couple of weeks, sales have been decent. Customers have been appreciative. And being able to wear sneakers has helped the 7-9 mile walk I do walk every day I work. By the time the day ends, I'm exhausted, and all I really want to do is go home and do nothing.
But tonight I've agreed to meet Jill, who has free tickets to a new, quirky musical called Ernest Shackleton Loves Me.
At six, I leave Saks. Grab an unsatisfying dinner at Pret A Manger, and am at the theater by 6:45.
I go to the window to pick up the tickets when an usher says, "There's a line," and points to a small group of people. "Sorry," I say, and go to the end of the line.
The person in the front of the line insists that I was actually there before she was and that I should go before her. When I thank her and say, "I don't think so," the man behind her jumps in and adds, "No, she's right. You were definitely here before us." Who says New Yorkers aren't considerate?
Our seats are good, with an unobstructed view of the stage.
Maybe it's that I'm tired, or maybe it's the electronic violin that sounds grating to me. The play is only 90 minutes, but when I first look at my watch and only 20 minutes have passed, I know it's going to be a long night.
The performers have beautiful voices. But I just can't get into it, though I do love the actual video and stills of the real Shackleton saga. At the end, the audience stands and applauds; their wild enthusiasm for the play is obvious. I must be the only restless one.
The ticket line and seeing Jill are the best part of the night.
My VIA comes within four minutes of requesting it; I'm happy to be going home.
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