+THE SECOND ACT

I can appreciate awful people.

Without them I wouldn’t know how thankful I am for wonderful people

Anonymous

This story is about a butt-head, a dinner plate, and a night at the theatre.

A butt-head is someone who isn’t very nice.

When I add up my blessings, I always add the butt-heads of the world to my list. They are great teachers for how I don’t want to be and act.

A dinner plate is most often 10 inches in diameter and used for the main course of a meal.

I enjoy eating and especially eating off a plate.

A theatre is a building or outdoor area where plays are performed.

Watching a good play has always been fun.

And so two of my favorite pastimes, (eating and watching a play) came together long ago at a place called, The Country Dinner Playhouse.

The third part of the equation, watching the butt-head perform, was an unexpected bonus I call The Second Act.

This drama took place over forty years ago but the lesson it taught me remains steadfast in my memory – especially at dinner time when I have a plate in front of me.

Let the show begin.

My Mother won four tickets to a play. My Father, a truck driver, was on his way to Chicago. I was conscripted for the job of chauffeur. My Mother, my wife, my Aunt Lucy and myself were set for a night on the town. We were going to see Sheila MacRae starring in The Owl and the Pussycat.

But first, dinner.

And here comes the butt-head.

Before the play begins there is a large dinner buffet set up in the center of the room surrounded by tables. When the meal is over the buffet is wheeled away and that space is used for the show. A waitress moves from table to table letting people know when it’s their turn to visit the buffet.

About a dozen tables from where we sat the butt-head in our story decided he and his friends were not being served fast enough. I couldn’t hear what was being said but after a short visit with the manager, the butt-head and his guests headed to the buffet. Butt-head stacked his plate with food three times higher than a normal serving. His guests slowly followed. It didn’t take an Einstein to read their embarrassment.

And it didn’t get any better. Butt-head made two more trips to the buffet, using his fork like a bayonet. His friends made only that first trip and slowly ate their meal with heads down and no conversation. During the show, while the rest of the audience was laughing, they didn’t respond. With gloom, they made a slow exit at the end of the evening.

What happened next?

We’ll never know.

My prayer is that butt-head apologized to his friends, changed his attitude, and found some joy in his next trip to the theatre.

And I apologize for calling him a butt-head.

 

Visit me at www.buddybloomwildflower.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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