unusual sign, unusual place

Another night downtown with Zelia.  Tonight we are seeing Phoenix.

A few minutes before the play starts, Zelia and I go to the ladies’ room.  In my stall there is an unusual sign on the inside of the door.

Zelia sees the same sign inside her bathroom stall.  Odd, we both think. Is this sign up for every play or just the one we’re seeing tonight?  Does the men’s room have one too? Does this play encourage people to walk out?  Is it particularly offensive to women? One can only wonder.

The play is only one act, and a brisk 70-minutes long.  The kind of play I love. We take our seats inside the small, filled theater at Cherry Lane. The lobby was nice and cool, the theater is not.

Within ten minutes we are both hating the play.  The dialogue is so stilted and artificial that despite decent acting, the play is unwatchable.  And there we sit, miserable, in the middle section of a darkened theater, people on all sides.  But when the lights dim for the third scene, we just can’t help ourselves.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” we both say, as we clumsily step over people making our way to the aisle and a quick escape.

I feel like we’ve been held captive in the land of vapid patter for hours, and yet only 40 minutes have passed. 

That sign in the ladies' room sign was a warning. We were wrong not to heed it.