I’m a joiner, so when I started planning to move to Baltimore way back in February, I signed up for all kinds of things. And they keep coming up, like tonight, when, after the longest and busiest day in recent memory, I had to inhale a sandwich, hop on the bike, and pedal as hard as I could to be on time for tonight’s usher assignment at the Hippodrome: South Pacific! I picked up my nametag, clipped on my bowtie, and headed to the big usher meeting, where I was subtly reminded to tuck my shirt in–it’s part of the uniform. Then we broke into crews–I worked upper balcony, aisle 2–where I was told I’d have time between the meeting and doors opening, you know, so I could tuck my shirt in, oh, and DON’T FORGET YOUR FLASHLIGHTS. We were briefed on this year’s priority focus–customer service–and then we waited and waited for the doors to open. I chatted with my fellow ushers. He was new too, a former scientist, now retired, who told me all the ways to really measure my fitness (hint: there will be pulse-taking). She has been working for four seasons, but tonight was her first as Usher Captain, and she was digging it–nowhere to be, no responsibilities. The patrons came in, I walked them to their seats, and at intermission I told the woman with all the students there for their first visit to The Theater to go ahead and move closer, and the old Irish lady that I was very sorry it was so frigid, and that I had the house manager call engineering to turn the AC down. And then I left. Because as it turns out, South Pacific is, well, kinda racist, and I’d had enough. I pedaled slowly up the hill, remembering that there was a take and bake pizza in the fridge. I think I can, I think I can.