My Night at the Alley

People, I’m sorry, the Public is really weird.

I had forgotten how working the reception desk at the Alley theatre can be a crash course in human behavior-stupid human behavior. I have discovered how selfish and spoiled the American consumer has become.

Just a few instances from tonight:

A woman calls at 6:47 p.m. to let me know that she can’t make it to the 7:30 p.m. show. I tell her the box office phone line closed at 6:00 p.m. and they only take window service. Besides, in order to exchange a ticket, you must be a season subscriber and you must give us 24 hours notice. I wanted to go on to say, you can’t call up 45 minutes before the show starts and try to exchange tickets you spoiled, pretentious, piece of shit. I did think these thoughts as she went on for 5 minutes about her life, who she is, all the trouble that she was going through, blah, blah, blah, blah. I wish she could be here in person to see my face. There is just no way to convey through the phone that you are an unsympathetic, underpaid, gay man in a very bad mood. If she was in person, a can assure you, she would be able to tell.

I had another woman ask me where TUTS was located. I bite my tongue ever so slightly on with the side of my teeth. I point out the front glass door to the Bayou Place and tell her that the Hobby Center for the Performing Arts is right behind bayou place, it is about a block and a half away from us. At this point, she turns to me and says, “You mean I have to walk all the way over there?” My tongue escapes from its painful prison. “I don’t know how you plan to get over there, but that’s where it is.”

Another great aspect of my job here is the nightly onslaught of senior seniors desperate for the assistive hearing devices. For some reason, the Alley doesn’t trust the old birds any longer and have required them to leave their drivers license with me. Do you know the average amount of time it takes a person over the age of 65 with their arthritic boney hands and failing eyesight to retrieve their license from their oversized, overstuffed purses and 4 inch thick, plastic galore, wallets with an impressive collage of plastic cards? It takes a long time.

Someone from the PR office just informed me that there is going to be a talk back tonight, which usually means an extra 45 minutes of waiting around before I get to go home.

I wonder why we even have a reception desk. Do any of you know of any other major arts organization that has some hapless fool sitting out here in the middle of these wolves, these heartless vultures? Don’t most places just have the box office and that is it? I feel like have the people here ask me stupid questions out of some weird obligation of seeing me here in the wide open. I feel like a human kiosk.

I have decided tonight to charge anyone wanting to know the status of the Astros game $1. Then I will use my winnings to get completely drunk and try to forget this place exists. Until I have to return tomorrow, that is.