The wickedness of missing ‘Wicked’

I’ve never traveled onto foreign soil but have lately begun to feel like an alien in my own hometown, as the lone individual who hasn’t seen Wicked. It’s as if I don’t belong and don’t understand the language as everyone around me is talking about the famed musical that’s enjoying its run at Dayton’s Schuster Center.

No matter where I go or whom I speak to, I can’t escape the society of those who have seen Wicked. Constantly reminded that I’m the outsider who failed to reach the normal level of existence. I never even realized that I knew so many people until hearing them all proudly state that they were going to see Wicked.

I should’ve, could’ve gone and joined the masses; I really wanted to, as I love the Wizard of Oz to the point where I collect figurines and other accessories of the classic film. However, I couldn’t justify spending more than I make a week on a ticket. Instead, I’m left to wonder what really happened in that merry old land of Oz as I stare at my stuffed doll of Dorothy.

To try and escape my doldrums I would check my e-mail, and take a little bit of comfort in the fact that my situation could be worse as I read the misery of others. I feel fortunate that I’m not my friend whose been without work for six months, a father of three and whose wife just left him for another man; but then the e-mail ends with, ‘I have to go, am going to see Wicked tonight.’ Never mind that he doesn’t even have a car.

Next, I check-in on Facebook, and am faced with countless posts from friends who are going to see Wicked or already have and are sharing its praises. Some I think are just trying to rub it in, or probably just claiming their right to U.S citizenship since they saw the show.

The information super-highway was not providing the needed escape so I decided to venture out of the house. Hmmmmm, where could I go where chances are nobody has seen Wicked?

I sought safety in a local fast-food restaurant, it was during the slow time of the day so there were no other customers. It was all perfect until rather than asking, ‘Do you want fries with that?’ the clerk said, ‘Have you seen Wicked?’ I left with the hole in my heart bigger than the one in my stomach.

Left with no other options I relied upon my absolute last resort, where I knew for certain I would be able to find a race of people like myself who had not seen Wicked. I went to the nursing home. God bless their souls, but the residents are confined to wheelchairs, unable to feed themselves or even remember their names. They had never even heard of Wicked not to mention that it was in town.

In the lobby area, sat a man, a blank stare on his face and mouth hung open. In his lap he held an old baby doll. I watched for a few moments as members of the staff and other residents passed by. His expression never changed, he was in his own world.

“Hello,” I said, standing before him, “How are you?”

Some drool was the only thing that came from his mouth.

“My name is Mike. How are you doing today?” I said, in a slightly louder voice.

A brightness then filled his eyes and his lips began to move. “I’m going to see Wicked.”