Notes from SNL’s Stand-by Tickets Line, Part IV: Duh

This post starts here at Part I.

The three or so of you who have been following this saga who were not actually there may well be wondering: why on earth would anyone even consider standing in the cold for 5 hours, with no guarantee of any kind of payoff?

I was wondering that more and more as the night went on.

Stand-by tickets do not guarantee you entrance to SNL, but they are the only way to get in to a specific show, other than being close personal friends with your chosen Joe (or Josephine) Heartthrob or Music God.

Both times I did this, it seemed like a good idea in theory. Not so much when we were in the middle of it.

The next three hours went excruciatingly (is that a word?) slow. It’s a little known fact that time virtually stands still between the hours of 4am and 7am. Since sane people are not usually awake at those hours, or if they are, they’re not sober, most people are not aware of this phenomenon.

We did some science experiments. For instance, did you know that you are warmer standing than sitting? A.’s theory was it’s because you are closer to the sun. She’s a school teacher, so we believed her. Also, our brains were beginning to freeze and were no longer working properly.

Hmmm… 4:10am. I think that’s when R. told me to stop looking at my watch.

Closer to 5am more people were arriving to get on line, a full two hours after the Gaggle of Girls had joined us, and it occurred to me we could have gotten there at 4 and still have been fine. At 5:30, they turned on the tree in Rockefeller Plaza. We took turns taking walks over there — what was it, about ten feet? We were being rebels, though. I had read on the NBC site that people aren’t allowed to leave the SNL stand-by line except to pee or similar kinds of emergencies. For us there was no one around to police the line, no one cared, and we were free to wander around all we wanted — to McDonald’s, to the Duane Reade, and now to The Tree.

At six o’clock people in uniforms told us to get our things off the sidewalk and form a proper line. We were in the home stretch.

Ruvin called Chris and Sam (that’s actually her name, not “Debra”), who were still in the car, and told them to get their butts back in line. Sam was really suffering. Again, the only sane person for miles: all she wanted to do was sleep.

Now everyone was in planning mode: dress, or rehearsal?

“Whichever is the lower number,” I kept repeating. “Probably dress.”

Eventually an official SNl representative came out and shouted instructions to the line. She had to do this every 30 people or so. I would think the whole process would be more efficient if they gave her a megaphone and a partner who started at the other end of the line. But I'm not in charge of these things.

Her last words were: “Know what show you want.”

The Kids were in a huddle behind me, and they let out a shout: ‘Dress!”

“Hey,” I said, “You want to influence everyone ahead of you to take dress?”

They thought about this a moment.

“Live!”

In the kaleidoscope that was now my brain, I became nervous about asking what number they were on. I thought, “She wants us to know before we get there?” So when it was my turn, I just asked for dress so I wouldn't cause any trouble.

The post-mortem just past the handoff, where people were comparing their tickets, It turned out Live tickets were at number 16. L. and my dress tickets were numbers 30 and 31.

“How did that happen?” I was crushed.

“The woman in front of A. asked how many tickets were given out, and they said more were given out for the dress rehearsal,” L. said.

“Argh! They did?”

We had gotten through the hard part, and then I blew it on the easy part. And The Kids followed my lead. If we didn’t get in, it would be all my fault.

Next: Part V: Another line