They asked me to usher, which just goes to show how little they knew me. Somehow I thought I’d be alone in a ticket booth, or maybe asked to count money (which between you and me, I really like to do). As it was, my main job was standing at a door and tearing tickets in half.
It’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.
With me was a little-old-lady named Lorraine. She stood about four feet tall and I’m guessing weighed about 80 pounds. Lorraine’s job was handing out the programs. She also smiled constantly, greeted each patron and chatted. A lot. Lorraine was chatty.
I don’t know about you, but when I meet a really chatty person — such as Lorraine — I assume they’re not the brightest bulb in the socket. (It’s a prejudice of mine, I know.) Turns out Lorraine had been a concert organist, holds a doctorate in Music Performance, played with the Michigan Symphony and taught at Arizona State.
She contracted polio as an infant and was in an iron lung for … um, a long time. I don’t remember the specifics. She also went through two bouts of cancer and is a firm believer in the medicinal value of lemon peels.
My part in the above conversation primarily consisted of: “Oh really? … Huh … Yeah … That’s interesting … Uh-huh … Yeah … Wow … Really? … Wow …”
I think if I were a psychologist, I would make a study of extroverts. Of course, the tricky thing would be to find a way to study them where they didn’t rush over to me, ask me how I was doing, perform a song and dance for me, and proceed to introduce me to every blame person in the nearby vicinity who they only just met a short while ago but are now their life-long friends.
I mean, my God, who are these people?! Where do they come from?
And where do they get all that energy? 🙂