The Entertainment of Pre-Entertainment
By Penny Remick, 02.02.06

The bargain of entertainment is found if you will but sit back and enjoy the"pre-entertainment" of entertainment. In fact, being involved in the entertainment is half the fun! Allow me to demonstrate.

Friends and I gather at a Norfolk theater to enjoy a live theatrical performance.

I start at the lower level searching for seat number J117. The brass numbers are poorly lit, partially worn away, most likely as a result of elbows rubbing them clean over a number of years.

I notice a handful of women walking between rows, leaning down like chickens in a hen house, searching….searching. We all quietly continue in the dark as though oblivious to the idea of an usher. Finally, I relent to assistance. The usher models the chicken walk to perfection, then suddenly turns to report the likelihood of the number being in this section is impossible. She dispatches me upstairs.

I climb a steep stairway, feeling out of breath, aged, and I arrive at the opening of another, more darkened section. Alas, an usher, dressed head to toe in black. I pass the ticket into her palm. I note chicken walkers in the upper echelon. This is a bit dismaying. My scout points to a section she feels might be correct, however, it is not to be so.

Now she is busy with other guests, sending them off on wild chicken walks. I note that perhaps my seat is on the rooftop, since the number and letter exceeds the upper-up section. She is not sure. We walk as though amongst the ruins of an ancient cemetery, finding naught but empty seats in even more blackness. Finally! We find the elusive seat.

As I plunge myself between wooden arms, I hear a voice just at the base of this mountain, “Praise you, Jesus!” A woman has, of her own accord, found her seat! It is practically a theatrical miracle. The chicken walkers laugh with heads down for surety. Who cannot but be happy for this sojourner?

I notice the stage looks as a doll’s house interior from this crest. I make out large objects: a bed, a piano, a table, bolts of fabric. Minute details are not to be had without a telescope or binoculars. I remember I am afraid of heights, but then perhaps I am not. I distract myself by noting the stage floor reminds me of the dark wooden slats in my elementary school, circa 1960’s. I note the usual theatrical decoration: cherub faces with a suggestion of blonde, wavy hair, voluptuous cheeks, the faux marble walls, dentil molding, jutting balconies (and I wonder why I still have never sat in one), carved scrolls, ivy leaves, and red cushioned, velveteen arm chairs. Alas, the eighties has written its way into the scenery with the modernity of zigzag carpet in hunter green and burgundy (just what you need for vertigo at high altitudes).

A new usher begins barking off seat numbers, “H3…!” This last minute frenzy sounds like a Bingo game in progress.

My friends arrive in a huff of sweat and gaping mouths. “Welcome to the Swiss Alps,” I chirp from my precarious seat on the sloping mountain range. Suddenly, I am taken back to a trip to Alaska. The bus driver, being used to reluctant leave-takers, attempted to revive our sagging spirits by pointing out that the elusive mountain goat might be seen on the steep rocks if we were keen on seeking them out. Our imaginations took hold of us, and although we were unable to find a single goat, our driver was much relieved to find beluga whales gliding like white ghosts beneath lucid green-blue waves. Indeed, it was a priceless moment. But alas, there were no belugas sloshing alongside the rows of empty chairs. As for goats, there were plenty.

I sat and smiled, wondering how often I happenstance on so much delirious pre-entertainment, at no additional fee. It is extremely entertaining to watch this constant chicken walking, as well as imagine we are all those nifty, white creatures with nimble hooves, living on the highest altitude, in the highest heavens of theatrical seating. Never mind we could scarcely make out facial impressions, or small hair brushes and that sort of thing. We were, after all, breathing thin air. What could be expected of us? It was enough we were not fainting in the aisles.

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