Busy with Bubble Tea

Last night I attended an end-of-semester dance concert at the university. I settled in amongst the crowd of mostly undergraduates just as the clocked turned to 8:00pm.

When the house lights went up for a pause between pieces about 20 minutes into the program, a young student trepidatiously entered the theater and meandered down the aisle stairs. Her tardiness took little tool on her leisurely quest to identify a suitable seat for herself as she shuffled past peers to settle hesitantly in the center.

When house lights came on after the following piece, she was soon on her feet again taking a confused survey of the space. She quickly dashed to the lobby to grab a program, presumably to use as proof of attendance for her dance elective class, and meandered back to her spot.

After the last performance, she took the perfunctory final round of applause as a mere suggestion and immediately exited. And that’s when I saw it: a to-go bag of bubble tea in her grasp.

I followed her swiftly, eager to get home myself and curious of what world crisis she was leaving to solve. By the time I was outside she was already across the street, headed towards the academic building under which I had parked.

“Ah, study group,” I concluded as she approached its front doors.

No.

She had parked in the same underground lot as me but happened to miss the pedestrian entrance to it twice. We left the garage at the same time.

As she pulled out and ran a red light, I attempted to assemble the puzzle. Was she late to another function that began promptly at 9:30pm? How can one can sit through an hour of dance but not spare an extra minute? Who makes themselves late because of bubble tea? Why not leave it in the car? Who forced this person into this situation and what is the source of their insatiable desire to escape?

The dances were compelling at times, but little compared to this psychodrama for which I will never have an explanation, nor ending.