The Man with the Ginormous Head

I was very excited to go see my daughter in a show at the Ogunquit Playhouse. I bought a ticket for 2 of the 3 shows in advance; I had not been planning to attend the first show on Saturday. When I saw my daughter’s face as I told her this (“You mean you’re not going??”) , I had a change of heart and bought a ticket for that one as well.

Needless to say, I did not get a front row seat for my last-minute efforts. Now, there really aren’t many bad seats at the Playhouse, so I wasn’t too worried…I got there early. I found my seat. I waited with anticipation for the show to start. All was well, until…enter, the Man with the Ginormous Head. Oh no! How could this happen?

If you ever find yourself in this position, what would you do? Here are some coping tips from my recent experience:

Reposition yourself frequently. Otherwise, you will have a very large crick in your neck after an hour of tipping your head to the left without a break.
Try not to think too much about how annoying you might be to the people sitting behind you (what with the frequent repositioning and all).
Resist the urge to bludgeon big fat head with the $3 bottle of water you purchased at the concession stand when you arrived.
Entertain the thought of pitching “height requirement for ticket sales” idea to the Playhouse management…under my plan, people 5’2″ (example: me) and under get would get preferential (read: up close) seating.
Decide to be grateful that I am seeing the show two more times, one of which will be from the front row. When all is said and done, I will miss nothing.
Wonder how, when 90% of the audience is under 3 feet tall (read: children), was I so fortunate as to wind up sitting behind the Man with the Ginormous Head.
Pause briefly to further wonder why 4’8″ daughter is positioned behind the 5’8″ cast member wearing the 6″ tall headpiece on the stage…(but I digress).

Above all, remain calm, I reminded myself. Panicking helps no one. Breathe. He keeps moving around; there is no safe place! Now he is gesticulating with his hands (which are also ginormous!) effectively obliterating my tiny window of visibility to the stage!

And just when I think it can’t get any worse…well, it doesn’t. It gets better. The person who was sitting next to me doesn’t return after the intermission. The person sitting in front of her was a very small child who had migrated to his mother’s lap. The view is now completely unobstructed. Life is good; the show goes on, and…I remember the most important thing:

I am so proud of my daughter. 🙂