You know how important it is to us to provide the proper cultural experiences for the boys. We want them to be well-rounded and to know how to conduct themselves appropriately and with dignity in all situations. So when another family called and suggested we all go into Dallas for dinner and a production of Phantom of the OperaI thought, "Ah, a perfect way to further enhance the preparation of my young gentlemen for their graceful entrance into society."
The production was at the Pocket Sandwich Dinner Theatre, an intimate facility in a shopping mall, which holds about 150 people, packed in like sardines, which could account for the happenings of the night. I believe there have been studies done about the hostility and violence provoked when people are confined claustrophobically in a tiny space. Maybe some of these studies originated in this theatre. Four tiers of chairs and tables surrounded a small peninsula stage--the boys were on the top-stage right, we were directly below them, and two more levels were down from us.
Omens abounded had I been a little more alert. The program had a picture of the Phantom being belted by popcorn on the front. Indeed, when the dads had picked up our tickets earlier, they got back into the car smelling strongly of movie theatre. Dan even mentioned the unusual amount of popcorn being prepared. Each table was given a free first basket of popcorn, which I salted and began to eat. Where was my brain? The title was after all, Phantom of the Opera, A Melodrama. The entree music in the background was "Der Holle Rache" from Die Zaubeflote, only the coluratura line was being played by a tuba. It didn't take the boys long to find the statement in the program: Only dry, popped corn may be thrown by hand. Use of any other objects will result in immediate removal of the user. And it took the young people in the audience about three minutes to begin testing the parameters. A few soft popcorn blossoms fell on my head. Across the stage, I could see a boy of about seven throwing some on his sister. I smiled; this was a cute idea. The popcorn storm began to gather strength, the kernels to fly further. The woman in front of me brushed at her hair and turned around at stared at me. I smiled. She didn't. I could hear the boys, the level of excitement in their voices rising. They were pooling their funds. More popcorn was fifty cents a basket and they were getting ready. The woman in front of me began brushing her table off with an irritated gesture, looking back at the boys with a slight frown. She whispered something to a young man, her son? and his date who were with her. He looked back. I smiled. He didn't. The boys were pelting the people at the table on our right who were tossing it back at them and continuing their conversation with perfect equanimity. Across the stage, two families had formed an alliance against a group of young people at the bar. The woman in front of me rose, a cigarette in her hand, and said, "You know, having this in my hair is making me feel all itchy and it's really irritating." She left-I gave her the benefit of the doubt; maybe she was just irritable because of nicotine deprivation. Her son took a hit by Clark, the other dad, who was working on a technique to get popcorn to the stage. THe son turned around and glared at me. Now bear in mind, Threadkin, that I had not thrown one piece of popcorn-well, maybe one or two back at the boys-and this oaf picks up a piece, sticks it in his guacamole, and says, "How would you like this in your hair?" He's not smiling! I am stunned! His mother returns. Dan says loudly, "I smell cigarette smoke, Gross." I can tell that he is being infected by the deteriorating IQ level of the audience. People are taking their baskets back for refills and the play hasn't even begun. The woman picks up her container of salsa and says, "How would you like some of this?" What is with this bitch? I say, "Throw in the chips and it's a deal." Trying to lighten the tension, really. Her son is picking up the salt shaker and other objects and pretending to throw them, all without looking back at us. The hostility is palpable. I weigh a large handful of popcorn, look at it, look at them, and let fly. The boys are delighted. If mom is into this, that's carte blanche for them. These people are dead meat. The battle is on. Of course, I, not being used to physical battle, keep up a loud, running verbal commentary wondering why a group of antisocial, deviant personalities would come to this place anyway.
The group across the stage suddenly leaps up from their table, rushes across, dumps popcorn on the front row, and rushes back to their seats. Dan and Clark are giving the boys dollar bills for more popcorn, with instructions to hurry, they're running out. The people in front of us sit stolidly, not smiling. The woman puts a program on her head, I kid you not.
The lights dim and a man comes out. He disappears in a flurry of white. Totally unperturbed, he welcomes us and instructs us in the proper use of "BooHiss", sighs of sympathy and "Hoorahs" for the hero. As he turns to leave, he throws a huge amount of popcorn, which he had hidden in his tophat, at the audience. Loud cheers.
I have little memory of the play itself. It was full of lines like this one, spoken by the Ratcatcher to the Phantom, "Would you like to see my bait, Master?" "What?" "Master, bait?" (Popcorn storm, catcalls from audience) Or spoken by the Phantom to Christine, "I'm very proud of my organ." (Popcorn storm, cheers) You get the idea.
At the first intermission, the woman exits with her cigarette and the date. Her son, without turning around, picks up his basket and flings the entire contents back over Dan and me. I rise,grabbing my basket. Dan holds me back. I hear Ammo say, Wow! I think Mom's mad. I get more dollars out of my pocketbook, as Dan has run out. A very cute girl on the front row has noticed CW and they have begun some sort of ritual teen popcorn mating dance.
Suddenly I notice that the woman has made a grave tactical error. She has left her pocketbook on the table---open. I casually mention this to our group. The couple to the left of them picks up on it and the girl somehow manages to place an entire handful of popcorn into it. We reward her by cheering and throwing more popcorn at her and her date, who leaps up, pulling out his wallet, and crying, "I have an ATM card and I'm not afraid to use it!" He leaves, amid a storm of popcorn and returns with four baskets full, most of which he throws at us.
As the second act resumes, I am hit from the front by something wet. "Who threw wet popcorn?" I scream. The woman in front says, nastily. "If you throw it in my drink, damn it, I'm throwing it back." "You must be so much fun at a party." I growl, equally nasty. The battle resumes.
It was a wonderful evening. As you all know, the presence of a common enemy adds a certain je ne sais quoi to any group activity; this woman was the Iggy of the night and our family has never been closer.
As we got in the car, the boys said, " That was great! When can we go to see another play?" They're going to be so let down by Death of a Salesman. |
