The Fallen Ladies
Act 1
A show during the first week of the Fringe theater festival. A slovenly older woman with evident psychological problems shuffles into the front row; I am seated in the second row. She sets down her bags, and then asks the person next to her if she could borrow his cellphone — the presumption is she’s calling a friend — “the show’s about to begin, where are you?” But whoever it is she calls, she talks on and on. You hear all kinds of information being discussed — names, phone numbers, places, and dates. Then it’s showtime. The Venue Director steps onto the stage, and the cellphone owner has to grab to get his phone back!
Act 2
A show during the second week of the Fringe theater festival. And who should come in but the slovenly woman. She parks herself as before in the front row; once again, I am in the second. Almost immediately, she turns to a neighbor and procures his cellphone! Same story, and with the same likely outcome, as the Venue Director is already advancing towards the stage… when there’s a CRASH on the other side of the theater.
The theater “stage” is the floor, and elevated tiered seating had been erected around it. An elderly woman had stepped up onto the seating platform and had fallen back, bringing her elderly friend down with her! They seemed OK; the first woman seemed to have banged her knee, and the other was just rather confused to find herself on the floor… in any case, someone quickly calls 911 and urges them both “please don’t move, help is on the way”.
The sparse audience settles into wait-mode, except for the woman on the cellphone. She prattles on and on. The phone’s owner is getting antsy!
Ten minutes pass. “Do you want your phone back”, I offer. The man looks at me confused, hopeful.
I address the woman: “say goodbye, we need the phone back in one minute”. I turn to the phone’s owner: “I saw her at another show — she did this before!” I continue to fill him in for the duration of 45 seconds, and then I address the woman again: “say goodbye now, you have 15 seconds.” Then I count backwards out loud: “15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6”. Then I say “say goodbye, you have five more seconds, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1”. Finally, turning to the phone’s owner, I say “you can take your phone”.
She looks at me, astounded. She sums up the situation: “You don’t need the phone. You just did this to be mean!” Then she pauses briefly, taking in her plight, and wails: “Now I have no way to get home!” She sobs the words very loud, very childlike, again and again. It is well after the show was scheduled to have started, and ultimately, reclaiming the phone needed to be done. But the show hadn’t started; it’s a compelling point — did I do it to be mean?
At this time, there are a number of people from the venue attending to the chaos of the fallen ladies. The ladies seem fine just lying there, waiting for the medics. With the woman in front of me wailing, one of these people comes over to her. The slovenly woman incoherently states her complaint — my being mean, her needing to make a call, and her having no way to get home. After listening to her briefly, the good Samaritan silences her by letting her use his cellphone.
EMS comes about fifteen minutes later, and after ten more minutes, gets one elderly lady to her feet, and carries the other out. The theater employee gets his phone back without even having to ask for it… just as EMS walks out the door. And THEN the show begins.