Reality Unlimited

It was to be the last word in theatre fun; you experienced the action as if you were there. The trouble was—the fun could become too real!
It was going to be the show of the century—absolutely the tops.
There was a line eight blocks long outside the theater—the theater that had been specially built to contain Ultrarama .
Paul Hendriks had been in line since early the morning before, and so he was only a block or so from the still-unopened ticket-booth. His wife had come by from time to time, bringing sandwiches and coffee. Hendriks was determined to get a pair of tickets.
He turned to the man next to him. Got the time?
Five to nine.
That's what I thought. That means the ticket-office opens in five minutes. Hendriks rose on tiptoe and squinted ahead. There must be five hundred people ahead of us.
They say the theater holds five thousand.
I know. And that you get the same effect no matter where you sit. But still, I'd like to be right down there in the front.
The other man nodded. That goes for all of us.
Hendriks grinned. You know, this is the first time I ever heard of an opening performance being managed right. I mean, thrown open for public sale instead of being reserved for bigwigs.
Damned public-spirited, the other agreed.