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Grade Schoolers

   Recently, traveling for a family visit, I was given the opportunity to take in some of "the arts." As in the opera. My expectations were low: it would be groovy if I ended up mildly entertained. My goal, no matter how painful the process, was to translate this into the elimination of my opera-conversation phobia, a phobia that leaves me blank-faced and forced to reach into my bag of tricks. Trick #1: faking a cell call (thank God for vibrate-mode), followed by, "Sorry, I need to take this." Trick #2: faking a call from old mother nature. Thankfully at my age, if need be I can return to the pissing well 15 minutes later with a "Sorry… Prostate."
   
   We enter the plush grand lobby and wow, we're immediately surrounded by grandeur: people dressed to the nines, an art exhibit related to today's opera, large banners for productions past and present, vintage opera clothes from famous favorites, a restaurant, and people sipping cocktails. If I have to lose my operatic virginity, 3rd row center at the New York Metropolitan Opera House is clearly the way to go.

   No one can tell I'm a virgin--at least I don't think they can. I watch carefully: not a wink or secret handshake to be seen. As far as everyone else knows I'm one of them, just hanging out at the ol' Met taking in another operatic masterpiece.
We take our seats. I drink in the massive hall, the chandeliers, the human buzz, the orchestra pit less than 20 feet away; the seat in front of me bears a small monitor, offering subtitles in numerous languages. Excellent. I'm ready. Next time when our friends--or our friend's friends--start up with the opera banter, I'll be able to lean back, put my hand on my belt buckle, look very self-assured, and say, "Yep, when I was at the Met…"

   I pat my sports jacket yet again--yes, my stay-awake gum and mints are still there--and allow my mind to wander. Luciano Pavarotti debuted here in 1968 in La Bohème. I have no idea what La Bohème is about. Leslie's brother mentioned seeing Wagner's Tristan und Isolde, Giuseppe Verdi's La Traviata here--again, clueless and clueless--but that's about to change. No more fake phone calls or phony prostate potty dashes for me. I'm at the real deal: THE OPERA!

   And then I'm jostled out of my trance as the two seats to my right are taken. Oh my God, two little girls. They can't be more than nine. They giggle to each other. I look around--every fourth person is a grade-schooler. How can this be?

   "Excuse me, sir?"

   No way. Tell me this little kid's not going to ask me some opera question and embarrass the shit out of me. I can't use the cell phone trick and I really don't want to climb over everyone one. I'm screwed.

   "Sir?"

   I reluctantly meet the eyes of the party-dress-wearing, pigtailed youngster,

   "Yes?"

  "Is this your first time seeing Hansel and Gretel?"