I met John a couple of weeks ago.
He is 102 years old. He came in to the theatre to scope out the seating, because he would be attending a live broadcast of an opera the following week. He needed to figure out where he could be comfortable and where he could plug in his oxygen apparatus.
He was using a walker that day and he had a companion with him, helping him out.
We broadcast 8 or 10 operas a year. The average age of the audience is 93. They are probably the toughest audience I deal with.
Impatient, grumpy, demanding, and opinionated.
John was great. Such a nice guy. I was with him for about 20 minutes showing him around. He was alert, we talked a lot, he thanked me 76 times for helping him. We even laughed a bit.
Turns out I worked that show unexpectedly. I did not see John coming in; I was too busy beating up old folk with a fucking baseball bat.
About two hours into the 4 hour show I walked down the hall and ran into John and his companion. They had just come down in the elevator. John was in a wheelchair this time.
He was slumped over a bit and listless. I asked his companion what was going on.
She said he just could not get comfortable watching the show in his wheelchair and he wanted to go home. I spoke to John but it took him a minute to perk up and eventually recognize me.
He broke my heart.
Originally he was so excited to see the performance. He made a 60 minute round trip just to check out the seating. He was animated. He made another 60 minute round trip on the day of the show.
He looked so uncomfortable. There was a sadness and vulnerability about him. Still, he thanked me again for my help. He fucking thanked me again.
The first time I met him gave me an unexpected joy. Purity of emotion.
The next time I saw him shattered my heart. Harsh reality.
I am so tired of this rollercoaster.
Imagine how John feels.
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