I stood by the wooden counter of the will-call window, holding my student identification card against the glass.
The ticket agent, an older woman named Martha with a silver name tag, looked at my card and then at her computer screen.
“Clara Evans,” she said, her voice dry.
“Yes,” I said. “I have four guest passes reserved.”
Martha reached into a green plastic bin behind her and pulled out a small white envelope. She slid it through the gap in the glass.
“Here you go, dear,” Martha said. “Four floor seats, row C.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out the thick paper tickets. They were blank on the back, printed only with the university seal on the front.
“Has anyone else checked in under my name?” I asked.
Martha tapped a few keys on her keyboard, her eyes squinting at the monitor.
“No,” she said. “No one has registered for the guest badges yet.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “I sent the online guest registration link to my mother three months ago.”
