McCarter: Theater so close, yet so far away

Two students make casual conversation as they pass a postered lampost:

"Have you seen the new play at the McCarter?" he asks.

"No," she answers.

"I really want to," she continues.

"I hope I have time to see it," she adds.

"Because I really want to see it," she emphasizes.

"I wish I had more time," she mutters. "I probably won't get a chance to see it."

"Me neither," he sighs. "It's all the way over at the McCarter."

***

My roommates and I have that lovely Spelman glass wall deal. In exchange for a private bathroom, kitchen, spacious apartment and convenient first-floor location, we are essentially living in a huge glass jar by the Dinky. And people, on their way to the Wa or Forbes, generally stop and gawk. They watch us in our natural habitat, reading, eating, watching television.

I often catch the McCarter Theatre staring at me.

The bulging red-gray building fills our entire window. It is just across the street, yet it is so far away. The mother of all Princeton theatre, it whispers to me: "Why don't you ever visit?"

I wondered why I don't usually take advantage of the McCarter. After all, the tickets are essentially free for students (those colorful Tiger tickets do wonders) and it is right across the street.

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Or is it that easy?

In my three years at Princeton, I am embarrassed to admit that I have only seen four productions at the McCarter, one of which was the Triangle show.

Determined to break this trend, I grabbed my purse, packed a sandwich and set off on a pilgrimage. I imagined the journey would be perilous. Why else would I have missed so many performances? I would do whatever it took to get tickets.

As soon as I stepped out of Spelman, a speeding golf cart whizzed by me, nearly knocking off my nose. Not even a foot off Princeton campus, and already I was looking death in the face.

I continued down the Spelman canal and stopped at the crosswalk. I could feel the gravitational pull of the Wa getting stronger, and even the Dinky seemed to be drawing me close. "You're going to walk all the way to the McCarter?" the train station asked me. "You could get hit by a car, Danielle. For all that trouble, you might as well come to New York."

"No!" I shouted, turning my head to the heavens. I resisted and pressed on, dodging Mack trucks and public safety mobiles as I crossed the street. I had reached the Berlind, a checkpoint. The promise of entertainment and culture lingered in the air. Here, I stopped for a rest. I ate only half of my sandwich, just in case.

The last leg of my adventure was an uphill climb. I lugged my purse and knapsack, stopping only once to splash cool, refreshing Pellegrino on my face. At the top of the hill, I rounded the corner and stood face to face with the McCarter entrance.

Oh, it was beautiful, bathed in light. I fell to my knees and kissed the gravel. Giddy, I ran towards the theatre, fishing a Tiger ticket from my purse. I flung open the doors and then recoiled in agony. There, at the box office, two other students were in my way. A line! Quick, like squirrel, I reached into my pack and zipped two ninja stars at my adversaries.

The battle won, I dragged my bloodied body towards the booth, Tiger ticket outstretched. Even the most dangerous peril was worth risking for an evening at the theatre.