Deck and Amy and the Theater

“Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy a fifteen minute intermission,” the theater’s loudspeakers informed the audience.

Deck and Amy bolted up from their seats.  Programs fell to the floor before the house lights even warmed enough to be bright.  The two exchanged a quick, knowing glance; it was a game time.

They intertwined their fingers and raced to the lobby for a quick concession trip and to make one last appearance before their friends also attending the performance.  Deck and Amy had no intention of staying for acts two or three; they were going to put on fake smiles, compliment the orchestra’s skill, the lead’s range and the depth of story, then say, “enjoy the rest of the show, we’ll chat soon” and run to the parking lot.

Everything was going to plan.  Neither had experienced a plan going so well in a very long time.

Champagne flutes had nearly emptied when the house lights flashed that five minutes remained in intermission.

“Oh, by golly, look at the time,” Deck said to a co-worker spotted in the line for the bar, “I must excuse myself before things get going again.”  Deck finished his drink and stepped away from the conversation, dropping his smile as soon as his back was to the co-worker.  Across the room, Amy was having a similar conversation and losing fake smiles just as fast.

The couple reunited near an elevator bay.

“You ready?” Amy said.

“Goodness yes.  Let’s roll,” Deck pressed the down button on the elevator panel.

A moment later the doors opened and Deck and Amy tried to enter.  Tried.

“Excuse me, folks, but it is time to return to your seats,” said an enormous human blocking the entrance of the elevator.  “The show resume in just minutes.”  The tie around the man’s neck was wider than Deck’s arms.

“Oh, uh, sir,” Deck started, “you see, my wife and I needed to, unfortunately, call our evening short.”

“Sir, ma’am, I would be happy to escort you back to your seats,” the giant said, not listening to the pleas of the mere mortal before him.

“We’re actually going home now, sorry,” Amy said.

“I would be happy to take you to seats 4A and 4B in section 204, upper balcony,” the giant said.

“How did you know our seat numbers?” Deck asked.

“Deck, I know all,” the giant said.

Deck and Amy were dumbfounded.

“Well, would you look at that,” Amy said, pretending to check her phone without even turning on the screen, “our schedule is cleared up.”

“Agreed,” Deck said, still unsure of what was happening.

“Right this way,” the giant said stepping out of the elevator and making way for section 204.



For more Deck and Amy exploits in getting out of social obligations, click here.

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