albadger: (Krazy Kat)
Ushered for Aurora's production of Awake and Sing. It's from the very beginning of the Kitchen-Sink Realism era, and can't possibly pack the same shock that it did when new, what with the 3 billion plays that have followed in the same mode in the intervening 75 years. Solid writing nonetheless, and (as always with this company) perfectly staged and performed.

And imperfectly ushed. As the scariest of the 6 ushers (and as always this with company, the only male usher not on Medicare), I was assigned to guard the set; to keep people from leaning on the fake brick wall, to keep them from tripping on the very real doorstop, to make sure they didn't handle the very period dishes and bric-a-brac. This I did perfectly, but my innate helpfulness led me astray. I noticed a slightly confused woman wandering up the west side aisle, staring at some of the already-occupied seats, then coming down the aisle and off to the east side. I followed her and offered to help her find her seat, if she would show me her ticket.

"Oh, no," she replied, "I don't have a ticket." [Uh oh] "I'm the director, and I'd like to watch the show." [Ruh Roh! How could I not recognize Joy Carlin! So much for ever getting cast in one of her plays.]

I did get an empty seat for her, and one for myself (if you ush you get to see the play, unless it's totally full, and then you get to come back). Sadly, Ms. Carlin disappeared right after the show, so I had no opportunity to let her know how brilliant her work was, and... when you make a faux pas, brown-nosing is the preferred way out of it, right? I know I have some people on my friend's list with manners. Help me out here!
albadger: (Krazy Kat)
Ushered for Aurora's production of Awake and Sing. It's from the very beginning of the Kitchen-Sink Realism era, and can't possibly pack the same shock that it did when new, what with the 3 billion plays that have followed in the same mode in the intervening 75 years. Solid writing nonetheless, and (as always with this company) perfectly staged and performed.

And imperfectly ushed. As the scariest of the 6 ushers (and as always this with company, the only male usher not on Medicare), I was assigned to guard the set; to keep people from leaning on the fake brick wall, to keep them from tripping on the very real doorstop, to make sure they didn't handle the very period dishes and bric-a-brac. This I did perfectly, but my innate helpfulness led me astray. I noticed a slightly confused woman wandering up the west side aisle, staring at some of the already-occupied seats, then coming down the aisle and off to the east side. I followed her and offered to help her find her seat, if she would show me her ticket.

"Oh, no," she replied, "I don't have a ticket." [Uh oh] "I'm the director, and I'd like to watch the show." [Ruh Roh! How could I not recognize Joy Carlin! So much for ever getting cast in one of her plays.]

I did get an empty seat for her, and one for myself (if you ush you get to see the play, unless it's totally full, and then you get to come back). Sadly, Ms. Carlin disappeared right after the show, so I had no opportunity to let her know how brilliant her work was, and... when you make a faux pas, brown-nosing is the preferred way out of it, right? I know I have some people on my friend's list with manners. Help me out here!

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