Hats off to college security!
// July 21st, 2007 // Blog, Kris's Soapbox
Originally written for my CBC Fringe Performer Blog:
If you don’t want to experience the joys of Winnipeg Market Square Porta-Potty in 37 degree heat, you can always find a place to relieve yourself at a theatre venue. Almost all of the artists are fans of the glorious hands-free bathrooms at the Manitoba Theatre Centre; I have amused myself endlessly by giggling and clapping at how paper towel is emitted every time I wave my hand in front of the towel dispenser.
Another set of washrooms that I like are located in Venue 11 — Red River College. I had a chance to try them out as I was waiting to see The Feel Goods, and as I exited the facility I was amused to see that the building is equipped with a glassed-in Security Office, stuffed full of goldfish-like Security Officers.
These stalwart employees — resplendent in their clean and crisply-pressed uniforms — had their eyes fixed on screens. They’re probably keeping an eye on rowdy audience members, I thought, before I noticed that the closed-circuit camera screens on the wall weren’t the screens they were looking at. Instead, their eyes were glued in place by a movie playing on a laptop.
I don’t know about you, but if there was a bunch of great live theatre taking place in the building where I worked, I would be sure to bring my DVD collection to the office so I didn’t have to see any of it.
I shook my head bemusedly and retook my seat in the lobby. In the middle of a very heated discussion about how many syllables there should be in a haiku, one of the security guards strolled up to us. A lost theatre patron had located the guards and asked where the theatre was, because it wasn’t evident to her (there really isn’t any signage to be found once you’re in the building, and the lobby is large). The helpful guard had walked her over to us, and waited patiently while we finished our train of thought on how the second line of a well-written haiku should feature some kind of cutting metaphor. He then said “the play is over, right? It’s finished?”
“Oh no,” my erudite compatriot responded, “we’re actually waiting to go in and see the 11:15 PM show.”
The guard’s brow furrowed, and then wrinkled. I’m sure he was thinking about how he was certain he had seen people leaving the building after a play, perhaps even earlier that evening. He was about to speak up again in protest when a Prison Guard (AKA the theatre usher) popped through the theatre door and laid everyone’s concerns to rest. “The theatre is right here!” he said. “We’ll be opening the doors in just a moment.”
The guard shrugged and shuffled back to his glassed-in enclosure. We all shook our heads bemusedly.
I’m never one to shy away from inspiration, so I’d like to take a moment, if I may, to salute the security staff in the building at Venue 11 with a poorly-written haiku:
Plays? In our building?
We don’t know what goes on here.
We just stand on guard.
