The night was dark and gloomy, with only the faint light of fleeting street lamps and the headlights of passing cars to overpower the blackness. I was in the backseat of my mother’s car, crushed into the passenger’s side door by my two friends who occupied the backseat with me. Here we sat in silence, eagerly staring out the windows at passing amusements, anticipation thick in the air as we inched closer and closer to our upcoming destination.

The night, however dark and gloomy, was also the night of another anticipated event, one that did not hold much value for me. It was the night of Super Bowl 42, and millions of homes all across American were just beginning to tune in to the pre-game ritual. We, however, deviated from this crowd – a car load of people going against the current. No, our mission this night was far different from the standard. We were setting off in this car ride to take part in an event of bloody and gruesome proportions. We were going to experience a murderous and revenge-filled occurrence within the confines of this black night. We were going… to see the musical Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

The show was taking place in the renowned Heinz Hall of downtown Pittsburgh’s cultural district. This was a place I had never before traveled, at least in my conscious memory. Sure, I had been to other such venues in order to see other shows, but never this particular building. What unveiled secrets would it hold in store for me?

We arrived in Pittsburgh quite easily, emerging from the enclosure of the Fort Pitt Tunnels and observing the glittering starlight of a throbbing metropolis. My mother navigated knowingly through the confusing streets and intersections, and soon we pulled into a privately-owned parking lot just a few blocks down from our intended destination.

“That’ll be five dollars,” mumbled a somewhat confident attendant with a hoarse and scruffy voice. My mother’s friend, who occupied the front passenger seat, extended an arm out the car window and handed out a crumpled bill, to which the man fingered greedily.

“Alright, now, you can just pull over here against this wall, if you just go forward and turn right,” said the man, oblivious to the fact that we had eyes and could see ourselves that this was the only available region to park in. Nevertheless, we followed his fool-proof directions and pulled the car into a parking space that was well lit by a blinding orange light from above.

Car secured, we all tumbled out into the chilled air, faces glowing like an angel’s halo in the absurdly lurid light. From here, we clicked our high-heeled shoes across the parking lot in order to get to the opposite sidewalk. Although we were not yet even on the appropriate street, large-scale posters advertising for future theatre productions lined the sides of each building we passed, each shielded by a protective barrier of Plexiglas. The Drowsy Chaperone. Hairspray. Romeo and Juliet. The list could go on forever.

The road ahead of us yielded into a four-way intersection, and we paused to wait for the light to change so that we could cross to the left side. Behind us, I noticed a little girl clinging to her mother’s outstretched hand. She appeared to be about ten years of age, and was deemed in my mind out of place for this night experience. Yet, her formal clothing could tell no lies. This little girl really wasn’t on her way to see the murderous stylings of the villain Sweeney Todd, was she?

It turned out she wasn’t. As we crossed the street, the Benedum Theatre loomed out at us from around the corner, it’s bright flashing lights displaying to all within sight, “The Lion King”. Well, that was a relief.

We pressed on again, passing extravagant restaurants, a corner snakcshop, and a most curious building whose front was constructed purely of separate rows of columns reaching toward the heavens. Finally, however, we arrived at our destination.

The edifice of the theatre was somewhat plain and unsignificant, certainly unlike the flashy scene the Benedum has created in my mind. Although it presented a somewhat elegant invitation, the words “Heinz Hall” glowing softly in bold print letters off the stone surface were neither ostentatious nor superficial. Ahead of us appeared to be a main entrance, for many people flooded into the building from this gold-plated entrance. We, however, chose to duck inside the smaller-framed side door, for my friends needed to acquire their tickets at the box office.

Inside, the heat rushed us in an intense wave, and I felt the urge to unzip my puffy white coat. The ticket windows, which were directly inside the standard door we had entered, claimed just as standard. A thin glass window separated our group from the employees inside, who sat uniformed and comfortable in wait for engagement. My friends quickly claimed their tickets, and we walked off to the right towards the main entryway.

We approached the grand lobby in which one is supposed to enter, and found ourselves greeted with an eloquent grandiloquence. A woman in an usher’s black and white attire greeted me and received my ticket, but I did not spend much time concentrating on her figure. Instead, I took in the expansive contrast that surrounded us.

Beneath our feet sprouted a luxurious red carpet that spread across the floor like the blood of Sweeney Todd’s victims. All around us, however, sparkled glittering gold edges – the walls, the pillars, the railings… Everything seemed to have a warm gleam that glowed nicely in the warm light. Light, which, to my shock, flowed down upon us from a grand and golden chandelier. It seemed this chandelier was comprised of pure gold and crystal, for it shimmered valiantly and with the intent of being noble. To my right, was a bar of some sorts, filled with furniture of smooth mahogany texture. This furniture must have been coated with polyurethane to perfection, for it gleamed magnificently in the luminosity that filtered down from above.

There were also the stairs – lots of them. To my left was a smaller scale staircase, which cut into the wall and disappeared from view as they proceeded upward. To my right, however, appeared a sort of main staircase, with wide, rich wooden railings and the continuation of beautiful crimson carpet.

While being nearly completely awestruck by the grandeur of the establishment, I couldn’t help but notice a small souvenir stand that looked as if it had been dragged to stand, out of place, in the center of the floor. The sight of T-shirts immediately caught the full of my attention, and my friends and I rushed over to wait in the line of beautifully clothed patrons.

With our T-shirts purchased and our wallet a little lighter, we proceeded to ascend the massive staircase that climbed to the heavens. Our seats were at the very top of the theater, which meant that we had to climb to the very last level of stairs. But this did not prevent us from admiring the other levels as we passed them.

Each floor seemed to be grander than the last. As we rose from the grand entrance, we found ourselves surrounded by another grand bar, flooded with grand couches as well as grand carved benches. We climbed again, and on the next floor, found a beautifully grand replica of what lay below, only somewhat more grand. How much grandness was really required for one building? I was just beginning to contemplate this question, when suddenly, the “last-minute-until-the-show-starts-and-you-aren’t-allowed-in-until-half-the-show-is-over-bell” rang, and I knew we had to hurry.

We took the red stairs two at a time now, using the wide railing as a support beneath our hands. Finally, we reached the top, and entered through the open doorway that led to Gallery Seating.

Immediately, the rest of the theater fell before us, for it was as if we had ascended a mountain of wealth. Row upon row of expansive seating flowed beneath us, transcending all the way down to the blackened stage below. Above u, massive crystal chandeliers reflected every color in the rainbow, glittering and shimmering with prosperity of a thousand lives. I would have stood there longer, determining the meaning of the ostentatious atmosphere, but an usher interrupted me and asked is she could help me find my seat. I obliged, only to find that I was sitting three rows from the very top of the theatre.

However, for being such a close moment to the start of the performance, many of the seats were empty. In fact, nearly my entire section was void, save for the bodies of my own party. As we sat, waiting in expectance for the show to begin, I couldn’t help but notice the rush of people that were flowing down into the lower sections. Did they mistakenly sit an entire section up too high? I didn’t think that many people could make such a mistake. Then the truth dawned on me… These people were seat-changers! Desperate to get closer, to move up to the stage, to move closer and closer to the tides of ever growing wealth that accumulated around us? Could it be? But… the ushers did not seem to mind. I decided then to go for it, and join in the crusade of claiming a better seat. Mission: changing seats.

I grabbed my friends, and we walked down inconspicuously, glancing around awkwardly in every row we passed to see if it was close enough. Finally, we chose three undisturbed seats, and sat down just as the lights were lowered. Our mission was complete, and the show began.

After the lights came back on, and the play was finished, we left the building without a second thought. It was only as I was seated again in the car, placidly staring out the window yet again, did I realize the shocking truth that had been haunting me ever since I entered the building known as Heinz Hall. It was the superficial materialism of it all – the gold-plating, deep mahogany chairs, rich, crimson carpet that flowed like the sacrifice of human life… like the victims of Sweeney Todd, splayed open for their riches and value… All of it was worthless. No matter how highly regarded the venue was, in my eyes, it suddenly dropped a tad. The impressive entranceway suddenly seemed childish and lacking in value. The stairs, which had seemed so majestic at the time, now crumbled to dust at my feet. All of the accumulated wealth rose like a sacrificial lamb in my mind, a being that I would have to slay and slice just like Sweeney Todd had in order to gain any of the substance contained within the bricks of Heinz Hall. I could easily accrue the wealth and physical pleasure that Heinz Hall contained if I sacrificed my life. But being grand meant nothing if you had to kill for it.