'Book of Mormon' ticket sale causes panic, anarchy in Rocky

It began with a dream.

A young girl, age eight or nine, woke up one morning wishing more than anything to see a cleverly constructed lampoon of the Mormon faith.

This young weird girl was me. My name is Abby, but I’m more affectionately known on the PrincetonFML blogosphere as AW ’14. Now imagine my feelings of excitement and anticipation when I found out that my childhood dreams had culminated in the creation of “The Book of Mormon.” If you haven’t heard of it, go home. If you have, then you know it’s a Broadway musical, written by the creators of “South Park,” as a satire of those book-toting Salt Lake City-lovers we’ve all come to know and shut the door on. This musical has won several Tony Awards, including “Best Musical,” and is sold out through next year.

I resigned myself to the fate of most college students of little to no income: I would not get to see the production until it went on tour.

But then, the stars aligned. Rocky was selling tickets at 7:30 a.m. the Monday after Lawnparties. I was stunned at my luck, but the happiness soon morphed into gut-wrenching terror. What if I was too late? What if I failed? What would my parents think of me? Would they be ashamed? Ashamed to have raised such a ticket-losing wimp of a daughter? My mind quickly set to formulating a battle strategy. My best bet, I decided, would be to camp out in Rocky Common Room overnight.

I had originally planned on arriving at midnight, but dinner that Sunday evening made me anxious. The dining hall was aflutter with the prospect of receiving tickets the next morning. I began to wonder if I was not the only Book of Mormon strategist out there. I decided around 9:30 p.m. to scope out the Common Room for any signs of competition. I brought my homework and naturally suspicious nature, and I posted up in the Rocky Common Room.

For two and a half hours, there were no signs of opposition. It seemed as though I had seriously overreacted, until the clock struck midnight.

In a horrifying turn of events, a sea of pajama-clad freshmen cascaded through the door. They were carrying pillows and sleeping bags. Sleeping bags. I knew that chaos was imminent. In that moment, I made a decision that might haunt me for the rest of my life. I made The List.

The List had humble beginnings. We numbered one through 24, 24 being the number of tickets available, and put our names in the order we arrived at the Common Room. We put the time of our arrival next to our names as well, to prevent any confusion. But it caused its first panic right away. Frantic freshmen texted their friends, who immediately came running with more unnecessary sleep gear. By 12:30 a.m., The List was full. That didn’t stop the Wait-List, however.

The Wait-List sophomores came in right at the cut-off, and they decided to put their names on the list in spots 25, 26 and 27. Although I appreciated the Wait-List’s zeal, they put pressure on those of us on The List. We were the pride of lions, they, the birds of prey. We were slow-moving iguanadons, they, ferocious velociraptors. Ipso facto, the Wait-List was more than willing to swoop in and pick us off, one by one.

At around two in the morning, I decided to get some sleep. I left two trustworthy individuals in charge of The List while I dozed. At 4:30 a.m., in the middle of my REM cycle, a group of boys entered the Common Room, only to find approximately 30 prone bodies. The guards of The List watched carefully as the 4:30 a.m. Club approached. From what I have been told, murmurs of destroying The List passed among these newcomers. If The List didn’t exist, they had a chance at getting tickets come 7:30 a.m. Unfortunately for them, standing between the 4:30 a.m. Club and The List were some very sleep-deprived, very testy people. The 4:30 a.m. Club was forced to put their names on the Wait-List. By 5:00 a.m., we were up to approximately 40 names.

At 5:30 a.m., the janitorial staff entered with strident chants of “Rise and shine!” They had to move all the furniture we were so haphazardly thrown across. Someone took a piece of paper and wrote, “Book of Mormon Tickets in Mathey!” and taped it on the Rocky door. We roused our ranks and shifted to the Mathey Common Room.

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I could not get back to sleep, for contemplations of the nature of man swirled in my head. Would anyone believe the tickets had been moved to Mathey? What if a huge crowd of ticket-seekers accumulated in the Rocky Common Room while we dawdled in here? On Monday morning at 5:30 a.m., I came to the realization that man could not be trusted. I hauled myself back to the Rocky Common Room and proceeded to direct any newcomers to the rapidly burgeoning line in Mathey.

At around 6:30 a.m., swells of people descended upon Mathey Common Room. These new folks were angry — furious, even. They were up to 60th in line on The List and were not afraid to declare their feelings on the subject. Many questioned the legitimacy of The List. We assured them that we had kept strict track of everyone on The List, and all of them had spent the night in Rocky Common Room. Others threatened to rip up The List. When people mentioned that ripping up The List might incite an attack, one responded, “Whatever; we’ll kill them.”

Having slept for approximately three hours, and possessing a rather war-like spirit, I responded negatively. I may or may not have threatened these cheeky nimrods with bodily harm, while shrieking, “BACK AWAY FROM THE LIST!” I regret that I was so willing to turn to violence. Thankfully, the incident did not come to blows.

The trip chair arrived with tickets in hand at 7:30 a.m. She adhered to The List, and the original 24 all received tickets. I proceeded to lie low for the next week to avoid assassination attempts. Had I been robbed of life, that ticket would have been up for grabs.

The events of that night illustrated for me two things. First, I would thrive in a prison setting. Second, arriving 10 hours early for a ticket sale and starting a list will earn you mass hatred. I heard rumors that no lists were allowed at Mathey’s ticket sales. I can’t say I relish the fact that I have probably irrevocably screwed up the ticket sale system in Rocky-Mathey. But winning the tickets was a sweet, sweet victory after a night of abject hell. In the end, I watched the show of my dreams, and it was totally worth it.