Really?

I feel woefully behind again, but I suppose that is to be suspected after the whirlwind of a weekend I had. I suppose the only place to begin is with sense of excitement I woke up with on Friday morning. We were going to see Mike's (my theatre professor) play in Bury St. Edmund a few hours to the north, and my dear and graduated friend, Andy, was coming to stay for the weekend.

After a two hour bus ride to Bury St. Edmunds, our professors told us we had a few hours to explore and find dinner before they expected us back at the theatre to see Stagefright. But once we stepped off the bus, the Bury St. Edmund's chamber of commerce and the towering facade of an old stone church that were beckoning to us were immediately forced from our minds. Two older women, wearing navy blue cardigans emblazoned with the Theatre Royal logo emerged from the theatre and would not let us leave. We were ushered inside the theatre for a tour.

Once inside, our tour guides revealed themselves to be Marian and Joan and the most patronizing tour guides the world has ever known.

"Does anyone know anything about theatre?"

"Have you heard of our theatre before?"

"Has anyone heard of any theatres in England?"

Yes, no, yes. But we were stunned into silence. I, for one, didn't know what we were doing here. I don't think any of us really did. But Marian pressed on.

"I've heard of your Broadway, you know," she said. Yes, but that itself isn't a theater. Would it count if I said the West End? And sure, I could have offered her the Globe or the Old Vic where we had seen our first play of the semester, but I didn't want to talk to Marian. In the back of the room, I could see my professor rolling her eyes.

Finally, someone suggested the Globe.

"Ah yes, and what is the Globe famous for?"

Really? Really?


"Shakespeare," a somewhat less incredulous classmate of mine called out.

It was downhill from there. Joan and Marian broke us into two groups. I was stuck with Marian, who first led us around the building, encouraging us to imagine that we were members of the upper class in the early 19th century. Now, I'm all for pretending, but not when Marian is the one giving me the prompts. I'm all for taking tours of theatres, too, but this one assumed that I was an idiot.

After telling us the clouds painted on the ceiling could actually rain because the theatre was, in fact, equipped with fire sprinklers, Marian led us onto the stage. One explanation of "upstaging" later, Marian was about to lead us onto the front of the stage, which was already cluttered with all the props and scenery for that evening's performance. Strongly doubting that this was really supposed to be part of the tour, I fell in line. The other tour group, which was already finishing and was out in the house with Joan, called out to us and told us not to go on the stage. That we weren't supposed to. That it was already ready for the show. That we could break something and screw over the actors for their performance that evening. No shit, Marian.

Unabashed, Marian backed off the stage, but led us downstairs. We stumbled into the green room, where the actors, the illusionist, the stagehands, and Mike were gathered. We definitely weren't supposed to be there either. Marian was about to tell us more about the green room when Mike stopped her.

"These guys actually are a bit short on time and have to get dinner so they can get back here and see the show."

Once safely outside and away from Marian, Mike turned to us.

"I am so sorry," he said. "I had no idea they were going to do that."

The rest of the weekend was considerably better. Mike's show was a delightful mix of comedy and suspense and when the coach returned us to London that night, Andy was waiting for me across the street from my flat. He promised adventures that were sure to be more exciting than the hour and a half condescending tour I had just been on. A recount of those adventures is forthcoming.