I went the Walker Art Center a couple nights ago to see
Laurie Anderson perform her latest piece “DirtDay!” The Walker’s McGuire Theater, for those who
don’t know, is a really neat small theater that suffers from one major
flaw: the seats themselves are extremely
tight. If you’re a modestly wide human
being, the sides of the seat will probably hug you like a child hugs its’ teddy
bear; if you’re modestly tall, your knees are going to hit the back of the seat
in front of you. I’m not entirely sure
why they built the theater in this manner but it’s just something that you’re
forced to deal with. The sight lines,
however, no matter where you sit, are unparalleled and the sound is usually
fantastic.
I showed up a bit later than I had hoped; only a few moments
before the show actually began. I was in
the second row and three seats inward in the middle section. Two friendly gentlemen where to my left
towards the aisle and immediately said hello, allowed me to walk past, and so
on. The guy on the other side simply
stared downwards and didn’t exactly look overly friendly. He was wearing a brown newsboy cap and an
orange puffy winter coat. He was sitting
in a manner that his arms were not only lobbing over the very small armrests
but also well into the territory of the seats on both sides.
I sat down and was immediately greeted by the man’s arms in
my space. I was a bit shocked. I kind of thought he would just naturally
readjust himself once I sat down but he didn’t.
His left arm was so far into my small seating space that I couldn’t even
completely put my right leg flat on my chair so I ended up doing a weird hybrid
seating position, not completely unlike unexpectedly sitting on a small turtle
underneath your right butt cheek.
I was a bit bewildered.
How was I going to make it through this performance that I so eagerly
wanted to see while being so incredibly uncomfortable? On top of that, I have a pretty bad back, and
this awkward position spelled potential danger and aggravation. I was having visions of suddenly having back
spasms in the middle of the performance and screaming out in pain.
Not long after the show began, something rather interesting
happened: the guy got itchy. He suddenly and very quickly reached up to
scratch his temple with his left arm and then returned it back to its’ original
position. Ah ha! I deduced that this would be the time to
strike. I patiently waited for the next
itch, which came along only moments later, and immediately shifted. Little by little, I started to reclaim my
space…all the while NOT looking like I was.
Instead, I made it look like he didn’t put his arm back in exactly the
same spot.
This may all seem a bit strange to some of you and I can
certainly understand why. You’re probably
thinking, why not just ask the guy to move?
I can’t totally answer that. I
just got a vibe, a rather unfriendly one that said it wasn’t worth it. Plus, I kind of figured that I’d come up with
some bizarre scheme to rectify the situation, of which I did, of course. Call it a bit of a challenge.
The funny part is that most people would be pretty annoyed
with this whole situation. I’ll admit
that I was put off a bit at first but, instead of getting angry, I actually got
more sympathetic as the night went on.
It became clear that this guy was more “uncomfortable” than me, whether
it be in his clothes, chair, situation, or own skin. Something wasn’t right and it appeared to me
that he was clinging to this space as a sort of last ditch effort of sanity, or
maybe esteem. Rather than be angry at
him, I think I sympathized with him. I
ultimately felt sorry for him, I guess.
Heck, if that little bit of space means that much to you, well, take it, or at least until the next itch.
Heck, if that little bit of space means that much to you, well, take it, or at least until the next itch.
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