Worked my final show last night.
I was scheduled to work shows next Friday and next Sunday but was relieved of those responsibilities by Lorne, the Box Office Manager, who is a kind and considerate man.
The last three shows I worked were essentially sold out, including last night. Typically that is a recipe for sleepytime ease for me. Can't sell any more tickets, can't move people around - pretty much all you do is hand out Will Call tickets.
Unless there is a high percentage of assholes attending the show. The last three shows included a high percentage of needy assholes.
What was particularly galling about last night was the fact that it was a free show. Free tickets.
In 1952 a Concord woman left a legacy of $700,000 to fund a free concert series. The tradition continues until today. Each individual is entitled to four free tickets. Last night's audience was particularly needy, particularly problematic, and extremely annoying. People getting free tickets who are still fucking annoying? Amazing.
By the time I left I was furious. I got home and began to rant and to rave. Once more Carol had to endure my anger and frustration, which reached hysterical proportions. I know it pisses her off and I am wrong to do it. But she needs to realize the damage shows like that do to the nervous system.
One guarantee at a sold out show is that you will have a steady stream of people coming to the window for at least an hour - often times longer. No relief. I have developed an enjoyable trick to steal seconds of peace between customers. When I am done with one I look the next one in the eye....................and turn my back on them. I toss the ticket stub from the previous customer in the trash, then calmly and slowly turn around to face the next idiot. It's particularly enjoyable when they start to speak before I turn my back on them. Great good fun.
It's called survival, folks.
Anyway, by the time the onslaught is over I am wound up and ready to kill. Can't shake it, cannot come down. Even with a half hour commute I am psycho. So Carol bears the brunt. BUT last night was the last show I will ever work. THANK GOD.
Interesting aside: Last night's show was the 39th Army Band. They don't just play marches. For instance, last night when I was in the bathroom they played Play That Funky Music. It sounded exactly as you would expect - like a fucking march. It was horrible. My flow stopped mid-stream in protest.
They should stick to marches.
P.S. - Please read the following post detailing the toll this horrific job can take on the human mind.
Play That Funky Music brings back memories of a prank I played on my Brother in Law..that lasted years. Chris and I graduated and so Chris' brother from the same High School. He is 10 years older than us. When he attended the whites were the majority. When we were there we third in line. Don't get me wrong I enjoyed those years and the diversification. So years ago our family got together and the subject HS graduation songs came up. Of course their class of 59/60 was Climb Every Mountain or the Impossible Dream. I told them all, with the best poker face, that our class song was Play That Funky Music. I never cracked a smile or gave them any reason to doubt it. Some 20 years later I finally gave in. He was fuckin MAD...DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE I TOLD THAT STORY TOO!
ReplyDeleteThat is a GREAT story. I admire your unwavering commitment. But it doesn't surprise me.
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