When house lights go up, get in line, fast
By Linda Tagawa
Special to The Advertiser
Pili leaned against the door jamb, batted her lashes and asked, "Guess what?"
"Wat?" I mumbled, my mouth stuffed with food.
"I got tickets for the opera! Like go?"
I was trying to gulp my food down when she repeated, "So, like go?"
"Shua!" I was thrilled, since I've never attended one of those high-falutin' cultured affairs before.
And so we went.
The atmosphere outside the theater resonated with sophistication. Clusters of well-dressed people milled about outside the front entrance as we arrived.
The doors swung open and hoards of people moved toward the entranceway. A feathered cape brushed against my face, and I sneezed. Inside, a smiling usher pointed to our row, and we shuffled to our seats.
I sank down into the cushiony seat and turned around. "Wow!" The patrons dressed in silks, taffetas and furs, shimmering pearls, dangling diamonds and heirloom jade jewelry filled the concert hall with a posh elegance.
Lights flickered then grew dim as the orchestra pit rose like an elevator until the conductor could be seen in his stately black tuxedo. He lifted both arms, twirled his baton, and the sweetest melody soared into the air like invisible smoke, filling the entire concert hall. The drums rolled, the curtain parted, and the opera began.
Act One was filled with exciting electric music, colorful swirling skirts and regally dressed soldiers. When the lights brightened, signalling intermission, the real excitement began.
We moved along with the crowd like a herd of cattle, up the aisle to the ladies room. The line snaked out the door, down the hallway and up the stairwell.
There were women lined up for the duration of the 20-minute intermission. And it seemed I was at the end of this very long line.
The lights blinked, signalling the end of intermission, and I was still far from nearing the restroom. I rushed back to my seat on a hope and a prayer that I could race back ahead of everyone else at the next break.
The lights dimmed just as I plunked down into my seat. "Whew! Man, I've never had an experience like that before." I was mumbling out loud to no one in particular when the lady sitting to my left heard me and laughed.
"Ha! It happens every year. I'll tell you, the big show at the opera ain't up there on stage. No siree — it's in the ladies room. Did you see? They even had a guard directing traffic inside the restroom. It's been a problem for years and years."
She lowered her voice, "When I was standing in line, there was a woman who ran to get a sandwich, while a friend held her place. They both ate their sandwiches in the bathroom line wearing their brocaded gowns. This whole restroom thing shattered the illusion of refined elegance of the whole opera affair."
The curtain opened and Act Two began.
I resolved to be ready at the next intermission. When the lights grew bright at the end of the act, I hiked up my skirt to get a running start and "Bam!" I was off. I dashed toward the ladies room, practically knocking down anyone who got in my way.
The lady next to me was right. The real drama wasn't on the stage, it was in the effort to get to the ladies room on time.
Even though the opera ended tragically, the good news is I heard more ladies rooms are in the planning stages. Hopefully, the lua will be ready for next year's opera season.
Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days is a column of essays by readers on what makes Hawai'i unique. Send your article of 500-600 words with your address and daytime phone number, and address it to Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days. E-mail islandlife@honoluluadvertiser.com; fax 525-8055; or mail The Hono-lulu Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Hono-lulu, HI 96802. Sending a headshot of yourself is optional. Articles and photos submitted to The Advertiser may be published or distributed in print, electronic or other forms.
