Image courtesy of TopGold. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
My experiences at the local improv theater continue to be a delightful combination of fun and profoundly mortifying.
It all started on Thursday. I had decided to go–as I have been doing for the last few weeks–to see a show there on Thursday night after work. Due to the weather and some miscommunication, the friends I had invited were unable to come, which was fine. I am comfortable attending things (concerts, Paris) on my own.
I filed in early, grabbed a middle seat in a middle row, and waited for my fellow improv enthusiasts to file in. And they did–in front of me, behind me, but none next to me. I wound up sitting in my row completely unaccompanied, surrounded by an otherwise-packed theater.
Determined not to be bothered by this, however, I tweeted a joke involving the hashtag #improvleper. Tickled with myself (hashtag joking with the youths!) I followed this up with a tweet noting that at least that night’s will-call guy was cute–a pleasant fact of an otherwise kind of embarrassing evening. (And he was!)
I woke up the next morning to discover that the theater’s Twitter account and retweeted me, adding, “Do we sense a love connection?” Which I thought was funny. And then–the mortifying part–I noticed that someone else had retweeted it with a comment directed at a friend. It was, “Was this you?” As I was now included in the multi-part @-reply fest, I got to see his reply that it was in fact him. Cute will-call guy had been found.
I was in the middle of breakfast with a friend when I saw the last two tweets, and bust out laughing. After explaining the situation to my friend, she pointed out that this was truly a meet-cute of our generation.
“Emily,” she said, “It could be a movie. A Very Special Tweet.”
I don’t think that that will happen. (Or at least I hope not–what a profoundly uncompelling plot.) But I do now have a new Twitter follower, so there is that.
If I don’t post next week, assume that I burst into embarrassment-flames the next time I picked up my will-call tickets.
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