“Can I get the student discount tickets?” I ask.

“Do you have a student ID?” asks the woman in the box office.

“Yes of course.” I fish out my wallet from my purse and my old Lambent University ID from my wallet. She inspects it.

After a few seconds, she asks, “Isn’t Lambent in Ohio?”

“Yep.”

“And isn’t the semester in session?”

Why is she asking me all these questions? Does she think I’m lying? “Um, everything’s still virtual. Pandemic, you know.”

“My daughter goes to Lambent. In person. Everything’s back to normal there.”

Ooh, shit. Um. “Maybe it’s different by department.”

“And what do you study?”

“Biochemistry.”

“That’s also what my daughter studies.”

Why? Why did it have to be biochem?

“Nice!” I say, aiming for amiable. “Maybe I’ll meet her.”

She calls for her colleague at the far side. I catch bits of conversation.

“—so she says she’s a student at Lambent University, can you run this ID for me?—”

“—sure, give me a sec—”

“—yeah, something doesn’t add up—”

“—it says she’s no longer a student, graduated in 2019—”

She appears in the window. “You know you can be arrested for fraud?”

I have no idea if that is true. Surely she wouldn’t actually call the police and get me arrested? Maybe she’s bluffing. Maybe not. She’s already held up the line questioning me for a minute. My friends behind me in the line are getting anxious. They’ve brought their old Lambent IDs too.

I crack. “Um, okay I’ll just pay the full ticket price.”

She glares at me as she takes my credit card. “Okay I’m letting you off with a warning,” she says, handing me my adult ticket with my cards, “but just think a bit before you try to pull this shit again.”

And my friends also shoot me daggers in their glances, as if to say, you know you just messed this up for the rest of us too, right?