finally, time. and ushering

It has been a tremendously chaotic several weeks. Packing, re-packing, traveling, waiting, rushing, schlepping, filling out paperwork, paying deposits and bills and fees, working all the while.

Today finally a moment to take a breath.

*

I volunteer-ushered yesterday, a wildly rainy day, windy, unsettled. The way the seating at the venue works is first-come first-serve, and a few people always get anxious, even though there are plenty of seats. There's jostling, unsubtle posturing as I set up my station and everyone waits for the doors to open. There’s always an old guy with a cane edging to the front a few minutes before it's time. Yesterday's o.g was droning on about his job with Walgreen's, while snotty space-savers, well-fed citizens in expensive casual gear, set down umbrellas and coats as if their pricey fleeces lent some kind of right to go in first.

Finally, an employee opens the doors and people surge forward. I count off each eager body with a silver clicker. Then the surge slows to a trickle, and the show starts and I close the venue door. Once all seats are taken, I have to deliver the bad news to would-be entrants, and some take it well, sitting down to wait in case someone leaves. An hairy old guy goes in anyway with a snide smile. A younger man challenges me -- can’t we just peek in? -- as his three women companions urge him to stop. While I’m talking to the foursome, another man charges up behind me to the other door to the venue, actually reaches past a table to open it, a woman and three kids close behind him. I bolt over. Can I help you? He’s incredulous that they can’t just go in. The show has started, I say. It’s a full house and that door goes onstage. Please. Finally they leave (the man muttering a half-hearted sorry on his way downstairs) and everyone else sits down to wait. A gorgeous couple. A family with two toddlers and a baby. A daughter with her boyfriend, translates the delay for her parents and little sister. Eventually everyone gets in. A guy walks up, breathless. He needs to go in. His friends are inside. I’m sorry, there are no seats right now, I say. There’s even a family of seven standing up in the back. Then how are my friends sitting down, he says nastily. I assume because they got here awhile ago? I say, confused. Well tell them I’ll be outside, he says. But I don’t know your friends, I say. I’ll show you a picture of them! he snaps, and shows me a grainy video of two women. I realize he’s mad and a little off so I just say, Okay, if I see them I’ll tell them. He stalks out. I hear sirens. People exit, and I can let a few more in (sadly, not the angry guy because he’s gone). A guard walks by, unusually stony.

Finally the show ends and I put everything away and exit the building. Outside I find a half-dozen polic cars, blue lights flashing, and yellow tape cordoning off a few blocks. A shopkeeper is excitedly talking about guns drawn and being barricaded inside. I consider asking what happened but instead I cross the street and head for home.