I don’t want to offend anyone, but most of the patrons for the theatres that I usually work for are old. And I don’t mean planning their retirement party old. I mean Jesus’ waiting room old. If you spend your life working in the theatre, chances are at some point there will be an elderly patron who gets sick or hurt, and the ambulance will come and whisk them away while you tap dance on.
I was working for one theatre that insisted on having the management staff first aid certified for just such occasions. Management got sent to this whole big course so they could save old people in distress. I was working with the kid’s camp, so I too was first aid trained… online. And they told me to remove tourniquets every thirty minutes, which seems counterintuitive. I would have asked the teacher, but the online program didn’t have that option.
Anyway, not long after management was certified, we had an incident. An elderly woman fell while trying to leave the theatre at the end of the show. She hit her head on the corner of an inset wall pillar and was all bloody and dizzy. Management was summoned, and they came to the rescue with their handy dandy first aid skills.
One of the things management was taught in their first aid course was the usefulness of feminine hygiene products. And it’s true. Not only do maxi pads make great fire starters, their absorbency makes them great makeshift bandages as well. So, our head management dude brought out his brand new first aid kit and pulled out a maxi pad to put on the old woman’s head.
He unwrapped the flowery, not quite plastic outside and pressed the pad to the woman’s head. She was coherent enough to express in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like the idea of having a maxi pad on her head. But management dude had her convinced it was a good idea until he went to move his hand and discovered the maxi pad was stuck to his palm. He shook his hand around, trying to free himself from the sticky mass of biohazard.
“Why is this thing stuck to me?” Management dude asked as his elderly patient looked on in horror.
“I’ll explain later,” his assistant said in a hushed voice. But the escort of the elderly woman had heard it all.
“We want to speak to someone in charge!”
“We are in charge,” answered management dude with a laugh. “There is no one more ‘in charge’ in this building.”
Maybe this is why I get into so much trouble. I live a life where having a maxi pad get stuck to your boss’s hand is just a normal day at the office.