Charlotte saw the masses and immediately concluded that she's better than this. Hobnobbing with the hoi polloi just isn't for her. But alas, her father is an economist and can't be counted on to spring for seats away from the proletariat, so a place on the concrete it must be for Charlotte.
The prospect of such cheap seats must have been so off-putting to Charlotte that she decided to take matters into her own hands. To make lemonade, if you will. In the front row, just beside the stage, sat a beautiful box. The boxed seat must have been very expensive since no family reserved it.
No worries, rules were meant to be broken. (Guess which parent that comes from...) Charlotte saw an opening and pinballed her way through the crowd. She reached the box, climbed in, and with little effort procured the best seat in the house.
She seemed quite proud that the inability of her parents to provide adequately for her comfort would not hinder her enjoyment of an evening on the town. That is, until another child decided that such luxuries should no longer be the exclusive provence of the 1%. (Fearing nationalization of her property, Charlotte quickly vacated to another less conspicuous settlement.)
