“Ok thanks for the tip.” Somehow you doubt you’ll have the same problem. You check out and bid farewell to the clerk; the throughways are jam packed by the time you leave the store. As you wade through the waist deep sea of pastel fur, pegasi zoom past your head, buffeting you with wind. At this rate you won’t have time to get another soft pretzel before the show starts. You make eye contact with a disgruntled looking minotaur in the same predicament you were. You both exchange a brief nod of mutual understanding. It takes some time to get to your seat in the front row, but you eventually make it.