Ode to SNL (or “My Shameless Attempt to Score Tickets”)

I’ve always wanted to be a writer for Saturday Night Live, but somewhere along the way I decided it would be fun to become an attorney instead. First, define “fun”. Second, it didn’t really happen that way. I was lost and driving through the streets of South Philly when I went the wrong way down a one-way street. I knew the street was unmarked because I was looking for directional signs, and I’m just not that much of a rebel. I tried to convince the cop of the same, but he refused to believe me—about the street sign AND the rebel part. In any event, he ripped off a ticket and threw it at me. Threw it, really? Yeah, I’m pretty sure he threw it, which probably had something to do with the fact that I’d casually mentioned the thirty-or-so murders taking place within a two-block radius he could be tending to instead of writing me up for my minor infraction. Talk about putting your money where your mouth is.

When I saw the fine listed on the ticket, $52.50, I almost committed a felony myself (okay, maybe I was a rebel). I was in my 20’s at the time and it was the 80’s, but this is no time for math—the point is, I couldn’t afford $52.50! Did I look like I was made of money? Come to think of it, my dad often posed that question of himself, so perhaps I’d inherited his genes. I do know for a fact we had a money tree growing in the backyard, another thing he liked to quiz me on. But I digress. I was so incensed, I drove straight to the library and got lost in the law section. This was back when computers took up entire blocks and the Dewey Decimal System was our information super highway. But there, in the hallowed halls of ancient history, ta-da! I’d finally found my calling. The law was fascinating, humor writing was forgotten and fighting injustice became my new-found passion. I got myself into law school and, through my own brand of financial wizardry, turned a $52.50 ticket into a $90,000 school loan. If that isn’t evidence of just how funny I am, I don’t know what is.

So now, law degree in hand and school loans up to my whozie-whats, I’m reduced to merely pretending I can write like an SNL writer. Or pretending to be someone in the actual audience, something I’ve been trying to do for years. All you need to do is write in to request the tickets and prove you’re fully vaxxed. No problem! Except, it’s apparently easier to get a seat on the Supreme Court than one in Studio 8H. That’s because there’s only one month out of the year when ticket requesters can write to the show and convince the Powers That Be why they want (need!) to be in the audience. Reasons I thought were compelling, such as, “I think Jimmy Fallon is really cute” didn’t seem to cut it in the past even though #truth. Nonetheless, each year I’d write in, only to find myself on my own couch every Saturday night. But enough was enough. This, finally, would be the year I’d convince them I’m seat-worthy.

So armed with a boatload of wit and a glass of wine (or vice-versa, sue me) I tried to draft something so humorous and engaging, the Gods of SNL Tickets would not only fly me into the studio on a peacock magic carpet, but plant me in the front row in a personalized director’s chair, smack dab next Lorne Michaels, and encouraged to share my ideas for next week’s skits.

It’s been months and I still haven’t heard, but I figured this year’s email was too good to waste on an unread inbox. So now I will share with you what I wrote in the vein of “Twas the Night Before Christmas” since it is kinda that time of year, and getting tickets to the show would be the best gift I could receive. Better than a school loan pardon (okay, maybe not).