Shamrock & roll shenanigans
The tempting aromas of shortbread and nd Hot Not-toddies wafted from the lobby snack ck bar. But I had to focus as my job was to monitor the line of people entering the small theater and the activity ivity at the will-call table.
The table was where prepaid tickets for the Shamrock & Roll Concert were held for patron pickup. It was also where anyone hoping to score unclaimed seats for the sold-out St. Patrick ’s Day event, featuring wildly popular Dorian Green, congregated.
That included would-be resellers who could reap, with a wee bit of criminal effort, big rewards.
“If there’s trouble,” my now-boss warned during my employment interview, “the will-call table is the likeliest place. The assistant manager handles trouble. Can you, Limerick Harp?”
Judging by my current observations, my affirmative reply was about to be tested.
Clover Gold, whom I recognized from a playbill extolling her magic act, had been sitting at the table, distributing tickets. I assumed that, like other showbiz wishfuls, she needed supplemental income while awaiting her big break.
Then Stone Blarney and Emerald Wake, both of whom I remembered as delinquents during our high school days, crowded for ward.
Words were exchanged. Stone pounded his f ist on the table. Clover dabbed her eyes with one of her long, white bell sleeves. Emerald, f linging angry words, lunged for the f ile box of tickets.
Add to the scene angry patrons delayed from entering, and melee threatened.
I waded into the chaos. “May your days be many and troubles, few. Can I help?”
All activity ceased. That was until Emerald pointed at
Clover. “She says she doesn’t have Stone’s tickets. I know he paid in advance. Green is his favorite performer.”
His favorite color too, evidently. He wore a kelly green leather jacket f itted to accentuate his strapping form.
Emerald also had her green on in her namesake gemstone, set in earrings, pendant and bracelet.
“Clover is holding back the tickets to punish me for never asking her out,” Stone said. “Can I help she’s not my type?”
“That’s a lie!” Clover exclaimed, hugging her arms tightly to her body. She turned to me. “The f ile box contains no tickets for Stone. He probably snatched them himself for a laugh at my expense.”
“Who are you calling a liar?” Stone shouted with enough vigor to propel him backward onto the toe of the next in line.
The guy with the crushed toe squawked. I apologized on the theater’s behalf. Unfortunately, the episode wasn’t over.
“I’ve made mistakes; now I’m blamed for everything,” Stone said, shaking his head. “Why not suspect Emerald of snatching the tickets to resell? Everyone knows it costs to keep her Irish eyes smiling.”
I could’ve easily checked with Sales regarding the tickets in question. But I had to be sure violence wouldn’t ensue. Luckily, I didn’t step away.
Succumbing to temper, Emerald gripped the f ile box with the intent, I feared, of upending it. My counter-grip kept that from happening.
“There’s nothing so bad it couldn’t be worse,” I said between gritted teeth. “Give me time, and I will make this right.”
The patrons behind in line cheered. Someone even spouted, “Erin go Bragh!”
Emerald released her grip. So did I— cautiously—while considering all I’d heard and seen.
Suddenly, the hocus-pocus came into focus.
My boss could toast himself for hiring Limerick Harp and, if I was lucky, reward me with a raise. Because, thanks to yours truly, the villain’s luck had run out.