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Aug. 3rd, 2009 11:34 pmI have an alarm set on my phone for 10 o' clock at night, so I don't lose track of time and forget to go to bed. It never works, I'm always up til 1 regardless, but it matters that I tell you this.
I went to see La Cage tonight. Given that it's a Monday, it was slightly more than half full, so for a student's £20 Alice and I got seats at a table at the front(my neck still hurts). Being a good little theatre goer, I of course turned my phone off well before the performance started.
Got to pretty near the end, in a touching bit of dialogue, where it all goes silent, and I felt a chirruppy little buzz in my pocket. Oh no, think I. Surely not. Yes indeed, my alarm does not care that my phone is turned off. It's a trouper. It's going to ring anyway. Having less time than it takes to successfully wheedle my phone out of my pocket, I franticly mashed the keys and it fell silent. Knowing that the chances that I had hit the 'turn alarm off' key were slim and that I probably had ten minutes to turn the fucking thing off, I extracted my phone. Of course, having sounded the alarm, it had turned off again, so I had to turn it ON again in order to turn the alarm off. By this time the slow reprise of the title song was starting. Unable to get my phone to respond, and knowing my time was limited, I thought that the best thing to do under the circumstances would be to extract the battery. I flip it over on my lap to get to the back, and glance up.
Phillip Quast is staring at me, still singing, hand extended down with a somewhat expectant look on his face.
I genuinely thought he was going to confiscate my phone.
If it hadn't been chained to my jeans, I may well have handed it over. Fortunately I realised, through my 'shitshitshitshitI AM NOT THAT KIND OF PERSONshitshitshit' cloud, that the line he was singing was 'and while the waiter pats your cheque he'll kiss your hand' and it was my HAND he was after, not my phone.
I left the theatre with the pieces of my phone in my pocket and a desire to go round to the stage door and apologise for appearing to be texting during a performance. And also, thanks to an enthusiastic Cagelle, a bright red spot in my hair on the crown of my head.
I went to see La Cage tonight. Given that it's a Monday, it was slightly more than half full, so for a student's £20 Alice and I got seats at a table at the front(my neck still hurts). Being a good little theatre goer, I of course turned my phone off well before the performance started.
Got to pretty near the end, in a touching bit of dialogue, where it all goes silent, and I felt a chirruppy little buzz in my pocket. Oh no, think I. Surely not. Yes indeed, my alarm does not care that my phone is turned off. It's a trouper. It's going to ring anyway. Having less time than it takes to successfully wheedle my phone out of my pocket, I franticly mashed the keys and it fell silent. Knowing that the chances that I had hit the 'turn alarm off' key were slim and that I probably had ten minutes to turn the fucking thing off, I extracted my phone. Of course, having sounded the alarm, it had turned off again, so I had to turn it ON again in order to turn the alarm off. By this time the slow reprise of the title song was starting. Unable to get my phone to respond, and knowing my time was limited, I thought that the best thing to do under the circumstances would be to extract the battery. I flip it over on my lap to get to the back, and glance up.
Phillip Quast is staring at me, still singing, hand extended down with a somewhat expectant look on his face.
I genuinely thought he was going to confiscate my phone.
If it hadn't been chained to my jeans, I may well have handed it over. Fortunately I realised, through my 'shitshitshitshitI AM NOT THAT KIND OF PERSONshitshitshit' cloud, that the line he was singing was 'and while the waiter pats your cheque he'll kiss your hand' and it was my HAND he was after, not my phone.
I left the theatre with the pieces of my phone in my pocket and a desire to go round to the stage door and apologise for appearing to be texting during a performance. And also, thanks to an enthusiastic Cagelle, a bright red spot in my hair on the crown of my head.
