A Lovely Wet Slog

Spoiler free! This post is about the wait in line and contains no information about the movie.

Thursday night Bo and I trooped down to the Bagdad Theatre, to wait in line for the latest episode of Star Wars. The show was scheduled for 7 PM and we took our place in the queue sometime around three, expecting a line would form not long after. Despite the nearly constant rain, twenty or so fans had already lined up. We unpacked our camp chairs just past the first bend in the line and we felt we had a pretty good chance of getting good seats. I am glad we did, because the line wrapped around the building and down the block an hour later.  

When we purchased our tickets for The Force Awakens, I expected to have to wait in line to get good seats, but wasn’t excited about it. I have been spoiled when it comes to seeing movies. My first job was sweeping popcorn at the local six-plex, so I had never had the experience of waiting in line. I didn’t have to, by the time the people were lining up, I had already seen the movie. Don’t get me wrong I had waited in line for tickets, but that was for concert seats, which is a different experience since most concerts offer reserve seats, a service that movies theaters are only now beginning to offer.  Boann, on the other hand, waited in line for all of the re-releases, and had fond memories of the experience.

“There is something about an opening night crowd, that is different from any other,” she said when I griped about the need for a wait.

After we settled in with provisions and coffee, we started to take notice of the people around us. In the bend where Bo and I settled, we swapped stories with a professor, a waitress, a gaggle of Target employees, and a young couple bedecked in side buns and lightsabers that could have easily been Bo and I ten years earlier. Despite the rain, which came down in pelting sheets more akin to a 

Midwestern winter rainstorm then a Pacific Northwest one, we excitedly shared stories or information from cell phone feeds. Little by little, a temporary friendship developed and added to a feeling not unlike the buildup to Christmas Eve or an important birthday, a build of anticipation that sits in your chest or throat. As the afternoon went on, the excitement built with the addition of new faces or every time the staff made another round to check people in.  

The doors to the theatre opened at 5, and in preparation for that, Bo took our camp chairs back to the car. While she was gone, I couldn’t help but wonder if she and Dr. Frankenfurter were right.  If the wait, the rain, the people around us would make the experience better or if it was just a necessary price that had to be paid to do this thing we had waited months to see. Looking around at the people, I smiled.  No names were swapped, just a mutual enjoyment for what we were about to see, and the hope that it would be better than the prequels. Part of me knew that when those doors opened I probably wouldn’t see these people again, but that didn’t stop us from enjoying the time we shared.

Finally, the moment arrived, the spaces in line condensed, and the line slowly began to move forward. Each group making their own mad dash to prearranged seats or concession stands, after showing their armbands to the ticket takers. It’s sounds like bit of chaos, but the staff at the Bagdad did a wonderful job of containing and controlling the madness so that all could have a good time. 

The two hours we spent in our seats having dinner and beers evaporated in the buzz of the crowd. Bo and I rehashed stories about other important movies we had seen over the years. I live-Tweeted our conversation and the things we were seeing so our friends and family could fallow along. As the lights went down the crowd let out a cheer loud enough to be heard on Hoth, and I realized that I wouldn’t have wanted this any other way. I would have enjoyed the film no matter what, but the wait and the comradery made it that much sweeter.