It takes a barn

I went to see the Alchemist this afternoon (assessment: it was worth coming of the Benadryl, but I couldn't have said that before the second act). I'm not sure it was worth being the event of the day for which to be off the Benadryl; I'm missing out on a friend's birthday party as we speak. Between the itching and the wariness after a week of itchy, disrupted sleep, my resolve ran out after an hour or so of waiting around in the city between the events. But I digress.

I generally do not seek out the services of an usher; finding one's seat is not complicated. However, they usually like to be helpful, so I waited until one was available to tell me how far down the aisle and to which direction my seat would be. Except that the usher only said, "the row number is marked on the end, and the seats are numbered." Really?

I found my seat, which was the third in from the aisle. I said, "excuse me" to the two ladies in the first two seats, but you'd have thought from their reaction I'd demanded their first-born children:

Woman 1: You have got to be kidding me!
Woman 2: Another one?
W1: Well, this must be the last person.
W2: I really hope so.
W1: That's the downside to sitting on the end, I suppose.
W2: I just can't believe it.

I don't think it ended there-- thankfully, the play started a few minutes after I sat down, so they could move on (I hope). If having to get up for twenty seconds to let one person through--even if they'd already let through maybe ten other people, at most--taxes them this much, I wonder whether they'd be happier opting for less labor-intensive entertainment, such as television in the comfort of their own homes.