My friend and I were settled into our aisle seats at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre on Broadway the other day, ready for our performance of the new Kevin Spacey production of A Moon for the Misbegotten, when a slatternly, bleach-blonde usher came down the aisle to address the general audience.
"Hash anyone sheen shomeone wish a glash of wine," she said in slurred, uncertain English. My friend and I looked at each other, then back at the usher. Was this really happening? Ushers didn't usually talk this way, or talk at all for that matter.
"Shomeone came down here wish a glash of wine. I'm going to find them." She was in earnest. But from the way she talked, it seemed like she was looking for HER glass of wine, one that perhaps someone had stolen from her. She had obviously has a few glasses of something. And by gum!, no one was going to begrudge her another.
She stumbled back up the aisle, not having found the lousy wine thief. Spacey's character spent most of the play drunk.
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