No One Told Her Patience Is A Virtue, I Guess

The phone rings at the theatre.

It's a woman, says she's calling from her cell phone. She wants the 800 number for Blue Man, which is, as it happens, 800 BLUE MAN. We're a clever bunch. She explains that she doesn't want to have to pay for the call to order tickets. It crosses my mind that, from a cell phone, she may not pay for the call, but she'll pay for the minutes. I decide not to mention that.

She calls back. She wants the numbers. Numbers, I ask? Numbers, she says. So that she doesn't have to look for them on her phone. The numbers that are used to spell BLUE MAN. It crosses my mind that she will have to look at the keypad when she is dialing, and, as the letters are conveniently arranged in alphabetical order, would it truly be that difficult to look at the letters? I decide not to mention that.

She calls back. This time, someone else in the box office got the pleasure of her call. She called the 800 number but does not wish to wait through that lengthy list of four cities for which one can buy Blue Man tickets. She would like to know which number to press for Chicago. We do not know. Since we who work in the box office live in Chicago, and know the direct phone number to the theater, we generally don't call the 800 number.

She calls back. And again, someone else gets the pleasure of her call. They also get the pleasure of spending 25 minutes on the phone with her. She is pleased to relate that her family gives her projects like this, ordering 9 tickets to Blue Man Group, because she is so good at such projects. The staff member she spoke with thinks it more likely that her family gives her such projects because it keeps her out of their hair.

Apparently, I Have A Nice Ass

Bright and early Sunday morning, I go over to the neighborhood CVS drugstore from the theater. I need to get my morning Coca-Cola.

As I enter the building, from behind me a man says in a perfectly normal sounding tone:

"Hey. You have a nice ass."

I figure it must be a) someone from the theater or b) someone stumbling home drunk at 10.30 in the morning after staying out all night drinking. Curious, I turned around. Perfectly normal looking fellow, nicely-dressed. Smiled and went on his way.

It sure ain't true, my ass being not unlike two scoops of cottage cheese in appearance, jiggling like Jell-o, but it sure is a nice start to the day.

It's So Tasty, Too!

Overheard at dinner, February 14, Brasserie Jo in downtown Chicago, the following exclamation by woman at next table:

"I've never had lobster bisque before that has lobster in it!"

Overhear at local restaurant in one of those awkward moments when the conversational buzz suddenly dies down

"Did the vibration give you an orgasm?"

Just Because I Know The Answer To My Question Doesn't Mean I Know The Answer To My Question

A caller calls.

"Yeah, my daughter is three. I know your policy is no one under five, so I wanted to call and see what your policy was on that."

Caller went on to say that if his daughter couldn't come, then the whole family would not be able to attend. He'll spend $59 to buy her a ticket, but can't afford a babysitter? I didn't realize babysitters were so expensive.

I Missed The Connection

Saturday. Working at the theater. A woman calls. The woman orders tickets, four tickets, for her husband and their three grandchildren.

We have an exciting discussion about where her grandchildren would like to sit: she asks me where they would like to sit. I suggest that, inasmuch as they are her grandchildren, she probably knows them better than I do and would have a better idea of their preferences in such matters. She says they are 13-year olds. I am tempted to say that the restraining order prevents me from being too close to 13-year olds anymore, but instead suggest that inasmuch as they are her grandchildren, she probably knows them better than I do.

She want to know where her husband and the gaggle of grandkids should go for dinner. I note that there are literally a hundred restaurants within walking distance of the theatre; what kind of food do they like? She says they are 13-year olds. (Apparently -- in her world -- every last 13-year old likes the exact same foods, and only a theater box office employee knows what they are.) When I tell her that the last 13-year old I dined with fancied Ethiopian food, she suddenly realizes her grandkids like pizza.

The woman wants the tickets mailed....

The me: Tickets are held at the box office for pick up.
The woman: No. I am not driving all the way into the city just to pick up.
TM: No problem; what is the last name of the person who will be here to pick them up.
TW: [exasperated sigh] That won't work.
TM: I'm sorry?
TW: He doesn't drive.
TM: I'm sorry?
TW: My husband doesn't drive. We're retired.
TM: I'm sorry, I'm not sure I'm understanding the connection between driving and picking up tickets?
TW: He's retired. He doesn't drive.
TM: He is coming to the show, correct?
TW: Well, yes.
TM: Once he arrives at the theater, he just needs to stop at the box office to pick up the tickets.
TW: You are not listening. He doesn't DRIVE.

Eventually, she came to understand that her husband did not need to know how to drive to pick up tickets.