Saturday night we went to see the school play The Dining Room. The night had hints that it wouldn't go well when we were driving over the bridge and Fred asked when the play started.
"Oh, 7 or 7:30. Look it up on the website." I said. He had gotten a new iPhone for Christmas and likes to look things up, plus our school has a new website that has a cell phone app.
"Is the play Our Town?"
"No, that was last semester." Uh oh. Flying blind on time. So we assume 7 pm and eat a hurried dinner at Mitchell's. Of course when we get to school, we discover it starts at 7:30 and we have 45 minutes to wait. So, we walk Bingo up and down stairs to tire him out. Good plan we thought. It didn't work.
We waited until about 7:20 to go to our seats. Then we sat in the back, on the aisle. We know the drill. Bingo was very good. He was lying down, calm and quiet. Then the lights went out and the show started.
Whine. Rustle. Rustle.
Whine. Whispered NO. Heads turn. Mind you there are five empty rows between us the next row with people in front of us, but still, parents. You seriously don't want to annoy parents watching their children.
Whine. Fred looks at me. The husband of the play director on the opposite side of the aisle looks at me. I tell Fred we need to leave. Time: 7:50. I make two major mistakes: I bend down to get my purse and I don't tell Fred that there is a curtain covering the doors leading out of the theater to mask the light bleeding in from late people.
When I bend down, Fred thinks I have a hold of Bingo's collar. I am getting my purse. Fred turns and I think he has Bingo, He doesn't. Bingo senses movement and BOLTS. He races up the aisle and shoots under the curtain and disappears. Unfortunately for the two girls who are the ushers and are standing between the curtain and the door to help people navigate between the curtain and the door, Bingo surprises them. They aren't expecting a 70-pound black lab to come rushing the exit, startling them so they SQUEAK! Not good.
Fred is standing in the aisle and all he sees is Bingo disappear! He rushes forward and runs smack into the curtain, and flails around trying to find the slit (mind you there isn't one, you have to go around, but he doesn't know that), so finally he follows the leash and goes under. There are the two ushers with Bingo, the door opens, Fred and Bingo go through, I follow. It seems like light bleeds through, but I'm really tense about the bolting, the flailing and the squeaking.
It all seemed like a lifetime. However, the good news is that my friend's son was an usher that night and he didn't even know we were there or that anything had happened. So I guess the incident wasn't as big as we thought. Still, Bingo won't be going to the musical in March! I'll stick with the anonymous crowds in movie theaters.