Broadway

It’s always been a dream of mine to be in a Broadway musical; Silk shirts, green tights and those funny looking dancing shoes.  I long to hit the high note and hold it until the all the old lady’s glasses shatter, the plaster cracks overhead on the ceiling and the crowd roars its approval as women faint in awe of the power, beauty and purity of that one note.  In my dreams men cry at that moment and the entire musical is interrupted as a Tennant floor sweeper wheels onto the stage to sweep up the mountains of flowers and the corsets that have been thrown on the stage in appreciation.  Reporters rush to access their online Thesaurus in hopes of finding new superlatives to describe the ecstasy of the moment. 

But sadly that moment will never come for I have given myself to the building products industry.  “To reach the unreachable star” will now only echo off the ¾” particleboard during inventory week.  “Follow every rainbow” will only be heard by the men on forklifts. “We know we belong to the land.  And the land we belong to is grand!” will be drowned out by the whining of the panel saw.  Broadway’s loss is plywood’s gain. 

I have resigned myself to this course but I still wanted to see a Broadway musical.  So on Wednesday, June 18^th, I had my ticket and was headed for a matinee performance of “A Catered Affair.”  We rode the subway down to Grand Central Station and walked to Broadway after visiting the historic Public Library (you can’t check out books at this library). Just a block from the theatre was the M&M store and the Hershey’s candy bar store.  Could this day get any better? 

The theatre was small and rather cozy; too cozy.  It seemed that every woman over 70 in the 5 boroughs of New York was there; and they all knew each other. Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap.

They wouldn’t shut up.  They stood and talked.  They turned around and talked.  They talked in the aisles, they talked in their seats.  They talked on their way to the ladies room and they talked on the way back to their seats.  I’ve been in a poultry house with 60,000 hens and it was quieter there in spite of the cackling and grunting produced by 60,000 eggs being laid.  I prayed for a lighting bolt that would only be attracted to blue hair but no such luck. I learned the following in spite of covering my ears and humming the Barney song loudly and off-key:

• The lady next to me was appalled that her clothing store didn’t have a purse that would match her leopard underwear.
• A lady in front of me was humiliated because her neighbor hadn’t invited her to last week’s big pool party.
• Another lady in front of me was upset because her husband had spilt a coke on the leather seats of her BMW and the car only had 3000 miles on it.  She would have to trade it in.
• A woman 2 rows ahead of us was suffering from gall bladder problems and she had been to 3 doctors trying to find a cute one she felt comfortable talking to.
• A lady 3 rows ahead of us had a son who was a doctor and he was just God’s gift to women.

The lights dimmed and a solitary spotlight revealed a suitcase on stage but the dimwits didn’t quit talking.  Another sound now blanketed the theatre. SSSSHHHHH. SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH.  If it had been a snake I would have preferred the agony of its bite and a merciful death over the torture inflicted by these crazed females.  Over the next twenty minutes two different sounds drowned out the rather insignificant events on the stage; the sound of cell phones ringing (at least 5) and the sound of old biddies arriving late.

“CAN WE GO UP TO THE FRONT NOW?  THERE’S NOT MUCH HAPPENING ON THE STAGE.”

“IT’S MY SON JULIUS.  HE’S GOING TO MEET US AFTER THE PLAY.”

I was aggravated now! I was seething! I had paid over $10 for these tickets and I had hoped to be able to hear the conversations on the stage.  I had been pushed too far. It was time for action.  My eyes glazed over and I was young again.  There was a pea shooter in my hand and my pockets were full of perfectly round aerodynamic peas.  There was a woman 3 rows ahead of me who was still whispering most of the time.  Two peas went into the mouth and in quick succession, they found the thin spot on top of her head.  She whirled quickly but I had already reloaded.  Three perfectly aimed missiles slammed against her head and she toppled over.  It was the last sound she would make at the theatre.  Two other loud-mouths were targeted and a shotgun spray pattern laid them out. 

The worst offender sat across the aisle 2 rows ahead of us.  She arrived late, talked on her cell phone and whispered loudly to her companions.  There would be no mercy for her.  She had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.  Her sins in their multiplicity were much too grave to forgive.  She would get the dreaded 3S; sweat, snot and saliva.   The 3S tactic had been developed by a friend in the 3^rd grade who was constantly blowing his nose.  A single pea was held momentarily in the arm pit.  It was then dragged across his hankie and then spit on.  The index finger on the left hand then covered the opening on pea shooter that you blew on.  This virulent projectile should not be allowed to enter the mouth. The toxic pea was now slid down the pea shooter from the other end.  I listened for the sound of the air conditioner since blowing air could affect the trajectory of the shot.  I waited.  This contemptuous woman turned her head slightly and now there was a 2 second window of opportunity.  I aimed carefully and a strong breath took this special pea on its way.  The pea arrived on a slight downward path and it rattled into the ear and was buried in the ear canal.  The effect was immediate and gratifying.  Her whole body stiffened and she fell to the floor. One small spit from man, one giant gift to mankind.  This vile inconsiderate woman would never interrupt another soliloquy.

Somewhere across the theatre an old man coughed.  I turned toward the sound and was quickly brought back from my imaginary world of revenge and justice.  I was smiling now.  The show must go on and I enjoyed every minute of it.  I did make a vow to never attend another matinee but as cheap as I am, that vow will probably be broken.  The show ended and as we left I decided to keep my ticket as a souvenir.  I put it in my pocket and to my amazement I found one solitary pea.  How it had gotten there I’ll never know but I decided to keep that as a souvenir too.