“I’m running 10 minutes late, can you leave my ticket at the box office?” Who hasn’t received the exact same text message while waiting for their companions in New York City? I chuckled, sighed and texted him back “#ThankYouMTA”
I headed to the box office at the Helen Hayes Theater as I have done countless times before and asked the box office attendant, an elderly white man, if I could leave my plus one’s ticket under my name for him to pick up. “Write down their full name,” he said with a frown. I explained that I didn’t know my companion’s last name — more on that later — as he uttered, “then there’s nothing I can do, it’s policy. ” He scratched off my name on the white envelope that contained my tickets. To him, I was also nameless now.
