Five Golden Rings: Throwdown at the Ballet

My mother is very fond of saying “no good deed goes unpunished,” as if she had ever committed a good deed in her life. Normally, she offers up this pearl of wisdom to my sister or me, in response to some frustration we had experienced after trying to do something nice for someone else. Doing nice things for other people fills a need, though, for both my sister and me, even if occasionally it backfires on us.

I spend most of my volunteering time supporting my children and their activities. If I am going to take them to school every day, I might as well occasionally stop inside and see if they need some help. If I have to take them to Hebrew school, why not see what I can do to be of assistance during that time? I am still trying to figure out if I volunteer to feel good while helping someone else or if I do it just because things need to get done. It’s kind of like scrubbing a toilet. You don’t want to be the one with your face down in the bowl scrubbing someone else’s shit off the porcelain but somebody’s got to do it, and when you’re finished, you know someone is going to come along and crap all over your hard work.

Here’s a perfect example. I volunteered to be an usher for a matinee performance of the Nutcracker a few weekends ago. My younger daughter, S, spent the better part of this past autumn practicing every weekend for her part in the local production of the holiday classic ballet. This was her third year dancing in it, and every year my husband and I secretly hope that it will be the last. She enjoys the opportunity year after year, even if she isn’t crazy about her part or her fellow dancers or her costume, but as long as she wants to participate, we support her. My husband shows his support by grumbling about the damn Nutcracker and driving her to the occasional practice. I throw myself into it a little bit more.

A lot of parent time goes into a large production such as this one. Parents need to get their children to and from practices every weekend. The week of the shows, practice and dress rehearsal time becomes a daily and sometimes nightly commitment. Parents need to help with set production, aid as helpers backstage, and also as ushers during the actual performance. There is a need for parents to sell Nutcracker themed crap in the lobby and even to mend costumes and help dress the children. For every minute of the seventy-five minute show, at least twenty-two parents need to stand by to assist in some way.

I have helped backstage before, so I knew I didn’t want to do that again. I decided I would volunteer to usher for one of the shows. I figured since S had to be there for all four shows and I only planned to buy thirty five dollar tickets a head for one of them, it might be nice to usher and see her again for free while helping out the dance school. I dropped her off backstage and scooted over to where the ushers held their pre-show pep rally. The volunteers included me and a couple of other moms, one in an obnoxious Christmas sweater and one who looked like she rolled out of a stranger’s bed, threw her dress on inside out, and rushed up to the theater with her hair mussed and her makeup smeared.

In addition to the paltry showing of three volunteers was a small army of paid ushers, comprised entirely of AARP retirees dressed in all black with matching sensible shoes. They all took this ushering business very seriously, and they were armed with small flashlights, stacks of programs, and an overinflated sense of authority. Each and every one of those seniors could have been your meanest teacher or a librarian in their former lives. I was paired up with Pat, an attractive old lady with a smart little haircut that showed off her silver hair perfectly. We were assigned to the J through N area, which is probably why I forgot her name was Pat and instead called her Jan.

As we walked to our area, I told her I had to leave after intermission to retrieve my daughter, since she was only dancing in the first act. Jan Pat did not find this news acceptable.

Jan Pat: You can’t leave your post until the show is over.
Me: But I have to get my daughter. I can’t just leave her in the lobby.
Jan Pat: Well, who is she with now?
Me: A back stage mom.
Jan Pat: I’m sure that mother will be happy to watch her until the end of the performance.
Me: The moms can’t just babysit. We are supposed to get our kids when they are finished with their dance portion. It’s not a big deal for me to go get her and then park her in an empty seat until the end of the show if I can’t leave after half-time.

By this point, I had forgotten both her name and the fact that half-times are for sporting events, but intermissions are for cultural events.

Jan Pat: We do not allow people to just park their children in empty seats.
Me: It’s not like I was going to leave her here and get a cup of coffee. I would be watching her while attending to my ushering duties.
Jan Pat: We’ll just have to see about that. We can ask CM if that’s allowed.

CM is the house manager of the theater, and he is a friend of a friend. I don’t think he really gave two shits what I did with my daughter as long as someone was standing by the J-N doors. Then Jan Pat shot out some fighting words.

Jan Pat: You know, you shouldn’t volunteer if you can meet your commitments. You should remember that for next time. Don’t volunteer if you can’t commit the whole time.

I stopped walking with her. She turned around and looked at me.

Me: How about I go ahead and leave now before I waste any more of your time?
Jan Pat: What do you mean? Then no one will be here to cover J-N.
Me: Well, according to you, I shouldn’t volunteer if I can’t meet my commitment. So I’ll just leave now and that way I won’t inconvenience you or anyone else. Since I have to, you know, take care of my child.
Jan Pat: Don’t go. I didn’t say that. Who’s going to cover J-N?

Jan Pat was a very conscientious usher.

Me: That is exactly what you just said to me, Jan.
Jan Pat: My name is Pat.
Me: Whatever.
Jan Pat: You’ll just have to ask CM if that’s okay. But I need you to stay here.
Me: Sounds good. Let’s bring CM over here and figure this out.
Jan Pat: He is opening the house; he can’t just come over here. I don’t understand why the dance school couldn’t have told you more information about what your volunteer duties were.
Me: Because all the moms in charge of ushers are also volunteers.
Jan Pat: They only use volunteers because they are too cheap to pay for ushers.
Me: I’m not going to be in a position to defend my daughter’s dance school. You are the one who said we needed to  have CM solve this problem. Get him over here so we can stop arguing and I can either stay and help or leave.
Jan Pat: We aren’t arguing.
Me: This is the very definition of an argument. Two people yelling at each other.
Jan Pat: I just need you to cover J-N. We can find CM later.

And she walked away, carrying her flashlight and stack of programs. I stood in my designated usher zone, assisted people with locating their seats and programs, and tried to stay awake in the dark.

At intermission, I told patrons where to find restrooms and water fountains. And after the second act started, I left and found my daughter. I took her back to my section and we sat together on the ledge under the box seats. She sat still for about five minutes before asking me why we couldn’t sit in real seats, so we snuck back out and ran into the elusive CM.

Me: Hey, CM, is it alright if I sneak out with my daughter here? I’d love to get her home and fed before tonight’s show.
CM: Sure, no problem.
Me: Could you let Jan Pat know for me? Thanks!

With that, S and I left the theater. I drove her home, still pissed off about the Jan Pat incident. All I wanted to do was help a little. Instead a big thank you, I got a big fuck you. No wonder nobody wants to volunteer anymore.