We’ve had season tickets to the Takacs Quartet for a number of years. These sold-out concerts are in a 500 seat theatre at CU, and somebody pretty much has to die in order for someone else to get tickets.
Every year I call the box office and beg for seats on the aisle; this year we got them. Our new seatmates watched the transfer from wheelchair to seat, and the subsequent removal of my wheelchair, with interest; during the intermission (for which they had to climb over me), the gentleman of the couple asked, “What do you do if there’s a fire?”
“That’s a problem,” I replied. My husband, who prefers not to participate in controversial discussions in public (or private, for that matter, but that’s another topic), said, “It’s not a problem, I would just get your wheelchair for you.” Considering it takes a good 10-15 minutes for the auditorium to clear out at the end of a concert so that he can do just that, I allowed as to how that might not be a very good plan, pointing out that not only did that make me a second class citizen who gets to be rescued only after the ambulatory have made their escape, it also endangered him by potentially requiring him to re-enter a burning hall. “We’ll just hope there’s no fire, then,” he replied, hoping to end the conversation. “That’s not a plan,” I said.
“I’d carry you out,” our new acquaintance said, “You’re too young to burn.”