The August Wilson Theater

I’m sitting in a public open space on 8th Avenue and 56th Street. I have 2 hours and 15 minutes to kill. I just walked my mom and aunt Shirley into Groundhog Day the Musical on Broadway. Well, no it’s a Broadway musical, but the theater is the August Wilson Theater on 52nd Street. The theater is a significant footnote because that’s how we happen to be in the City today. I entered the Broadway Show raffle — a cool new promo app that my coworker turned me onto. 

There was an extensive list of shows. Some I knew famously, like Hamilton, Kinky Boots, Lion King. Others, I’d heard of, but wasn’t sure of and some I’d never heard of but either had a cast member or something that jumped out at me Groundhog Day was one of those that jumped out at me because below the title I saw August Wilson. He was a famous playwright. He did Fences. So, it was one of the many shows I clicked on for a chance to win tickets. I got an email yesterday, is one for the Saturday matinee. A series of moves, it was perfect for Aunt Shirley’s weekend up with my mom. They were totally down for the train down to the city and a great show. 
It wasn’t until I woke up this morning, when sleepily I started to bring the logistics for the day into focus. I googled the show and — click — it hit me, the show was the commercial that was saw after I watched Ground Hog the movie. The movie that I’ve seen a million times. No, there’s no way August Wilson would ever turn that movie into a musical. Further, my mind — late as hell — noted that August Wilson writes plays not musicals. There was literally, nothing about this that was rational, smart or ideal. Like why was I Monday Morning Quarterbacking, looking at the reviews and video clips two hours before we were to get on the train? Ugh, I could see my mom and aunt sitting with there bags in their lap uncomfortable in their seat because the humor and scenes were nonsensical. The characters, the dancing and singing, pointless. My mom looking at her sister asking something like, “didn’t he just do that?” And my aunt shrugging and adjusting her purse as if ready to go. 
I called my mom this morning to warn her, to confess that I had blown it with the show selection, which was at the “August Wilson Theater”. And though the lottery offered the tickets at excellent discount price, they would most likely regard it as wasted money. She was okay with it and totally opened minded: ready to step into the day. Lord, I pray I can go with the flow at 82. She felt the beautiful ride down on the train, the window seat alone, would be worth the theater experience — good or bad. 
Yeah, so here I am sitting in a shady public space, looking at Hell’s Kitchen. I thought I would walk to Central Park. Not sure I’ll make it there. I sort of feel like I just dropped my preteens off at the movies. I literally asked the ushers what time the show was over, then told my mom I would meet them when they came out at 4:40. I don’t have the gumption to go exploring or dash here and there. And I’m in daughter mode. 
If I’m not there at 4:40, those ladies are going to go wondering off. I can here their logic now, we decided to find a restaurant. We were going to call you and tell you to meet us there.” 
Speaking of restaurants, I’m I’m not sure where we’ll eat. I just know they want to take an Uber back to Grand Central. We took the 7 train to Time Square and transferred to the E to 50th Street. I did that because my mom really wanted to walk. I knew that would be ridiculous. Yet, admittedly these independent gutsy gals from Virginia are finally ready to put away their reduced fare MetroCards. 

Okay, it’s 3:15 and my cell is on 13%. I’m going to move on. I think I’ll go chill in a beautiful hotel lobby. I love New York hotel lobbies. If you ever have to go to the bathroom, stop by a hotel. If you need an informal place to meet or need to have a peaceful moment to sit and simply be, find a beautiful hotel lobby. 


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