Emily Belsey

True Story:

Tonight at work (work being my second job as a house manager at Lamb’s Players Theatre in Coronado), I almost had to call the cops!
After the second act of the play has started, my usual routine involves emptying the trash, straightening up the bathrooms, scanning tickets, putting away concession stuff, and beginning the process of locking up for the night.

So tonight, having done everything else on my list, I went to the front and locked the doors (they’re only locked from the outside; you can still push your way out if you’re inside).

About halfway through the act, I noticed a man, late 20′s or so, peering at the poster on our door that announced our 2007 season. I opened the door (perhaps foolishly) and asked him if he required assistance. He said he was interested in our season, so I ushered him inside and gave him some flyers and told him the box office hours. He was quite pleasant and seemed geniunely interested. He thanked me, took the flyers (and his two grande cups of coffee), and left.

A few minutes later (about 9:45 and 10 mintues before the play ended), another man appeared, mid-30′s and about 6’0, and began rattling the door and asking to be let in.

Lance, one of the actors in the play (and dressed as a British officer at the turn of the century), beat me to the door and let the man in.

The minute he did so, we both knew it was a mistake. This man was nuts!

He started just by asking (almost demanding, but in a mostly-normal tone of voice) what kind of wheelchair seats we had. I launched into my speech about how we make every accommodation for persons requiring any sort of assistance, but he cut me off by shouting at Lance and I (this strange man’s tirade applied to everyone, apparently), demanding to know what kind of a theatre were we not to let handicapped go to the bathroom.

At this point, the man was pushing past Lance and I (and while I may not be a threat, Lance is a bald, 6’3 mass of weight, being neither thin nor fat but definitely not one to be ignored) and was demanding to go into the theatre and see for himself what kind of wheelchair seats we had.

Lance and I both told him he couldn’t just go in, we’re in the middle of a show! The man ignored us and continued to push past us.

By this time another actor named Nick, also in a British officer costume, joined us in the foyer and was trying to help us stop the guy. But the man’s protests were getting louder and more adamant, so Lance just turned to me and said, “go call the cops.”

I ducked into the box office (not intending to call unless Lance and Nick had to actually sit on him, but definitely going to bluff the guy) and immediately heard the guy change his song. He was leaving and there was “no need to call the cops. In fact, I’M going to call the cops, so you don’t have to call the cops…”

Unfortunately, Nick and Lance were due back on stage soon, so it was up to me to make sure the man actually left.

I picked up the phone, pretended to dial, and “called the cops” as the man stomped out of the theatre, tried to slam our door shut (they don’t slam because they have this weird hydraulic thingy that makes them close slowly), slap his hands on the glass and scream a stream of expletives at me that I haven’t heard in a long time.

I watched for the man to reappear at the end of the show, thinking that he might try to make his way back in with all the doors open and lots of people around, but I didn’t see him again.

Lance and Nick, my heroes. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if the guys hadn’t been there.

I probably would have just done what Sandra Bullock taught me in Miss Congeniality: side, instep, nose, groin. Sing.

How am I, after all that?

I’m F.I.N.E. Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.

Bonus points if you know where that’s from.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 7th, 2007 at 12:03 am and is filed under Updates. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.