As the theatre filled, an older couple, along with an almost middle-aged man, obviously a philistine, wearing a ball-cap, crawled over the numerous people seated to my left and stopped dead in front of me. Three pairs of eyes shot daggers right at me. The lady exclaimed that I was sitting in the sequentially numbered seats she had specifically ordered AND paid for, if you please. Words failed me - briefly. This incredulous accusation was followed up with the ball-cap wearer asking me to produce my ticket. His older companions supported his demand with hisses and growls. Such rudeness! I wanted to retort with the inappropriateness of his wearing a baseball cap in the theatre -most uncouth- but held my tongue, not an easy feat, I can assure you. Instead of snapping at him, I brightly chirruped that I was seated in the correct seat, in the correct row, and did not even attempt to locate the tickets buried in the bowels of my granddaughter's duffel-bag-sized purse. The ball capper barked that I was indeed in the wrong seat and again asked to see my ticket. A sneering chuckle escaped my lips as I answered that I was an usher in my local theatre and had shown hundreds of patrons to their correct seats, and that, considering my experience, I certainly would not and did not confuse the seats. I asked him to produce their tickets. He did. I could not believe my eyes! Gagging on my pride, I had to acknowledge that I indeed was in the right seat number but in the wrong row. Sooo sorry.
By now, all the seats on my left and right were filled. I certainly was not going to inconvenience all those people by attempting to squeeze by and possibly trip over their feet, or worse yet, fall into their laps. Hmmm- how do I get out of this one? After an embarrassed moment or two, a brilliant solution popped into my head. Totally disregarding my age and gender and throwing caution and decorum to the wind, I tossed our bags into the correct seats directly behind me, then paused to reconsider my next plan of action. By this time, my situation had drawn a small audience - hundreds of curiosity-filled eyes watched with wonder as to what I would do. The ladies seated behind me quickly guessed my intention and appeared to be most impressed. I found that most encouraging. The older couple, impatiently waiting to sit in their now warmed seats, were totally absorbed in scowling. The philistine, still wearing his baseball cap, anticipated my move and piped "That's what I would do" --- as if that was any recommendation and, in fact, his comment aroused my oppositional streak. I was sorely tempted to remain planted where I was; however, I proceeded with my plan and started to climb over the seats to the correct one in the correct row. My margin of error was nil, as they were now the only empty seats left in the theatre. With one leg successfully dangling over the backrest, my right foot became wedged between my former seat and backrest. The baseball-cap wearer looked stunned, perhaps 'frozen' is the better descriptor. It took him a few moments to regain cognizance and offer help. I proudly refused, thank you very much. Having recently experienced rescuing a grandson who had managed to wedge his whole body in a seat, I successfully released my trapped foot. I literally popped into my correct seat while I commented to all and sundry that I was the personification of grace and decorum. My little audience cheered and applauded. I was duly humbled. Worried that my head blocked people's vision of the stage, I asked if I should slouch or move a bit to the right or left. "No, we like your head just where it is" was their chuckled reply. The baseball-cap wearer was lucky he was not directly in front of me, as I would not have been nearly so gracious.
My girls returned and sat down. They had not noticed our seating arrangements had changed. In an aura of adorable innocence, I smiled very sweetly. Judging from their brief scrutiny, I knew they were suspicious, but they knew better than to ask.
The play was outstanding, and the whole audience stood dancing and singing the chorus during the play's finale. Well, not the whole audience. The people whose seats I, in all innocence, had originally taken, remained firmly planted. Their faces had only slightly changed from extreme annoyance to somewhat neutral. The philistine was still sporting his baseball hat on his head!! I kept my mouth shut. Miracles do happen.
