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.
