Did I just say that out loud?

As a new parent, I was constantly hearing things come out of my mouth that I would never have imagined I'd say.  

"Please don't put that pillow on the baby's face."

Or this whole conversation:

"Mommy, penises are weird."

"What do you mean?  Bodies are wonderful!"

"You like penises?"

"I love all body parts, ears and eyes and noses and elbows.  Every part does its job.  Bodies are amazing, all the parts!"

Ponders.  

"If you love penises, did you ever kiss one?"

*blink*

I thought that when the children were older my confrontations with the absurd, or, in the case of the penis conversation, awkward, would happen less frequently. Au contraire.

At work I am continually amazed by how often I have to state the obvious.

"You must not come to work intoxicated."

"It's fine to take a break during a concert, but it's not fine to sneak off to the third floor to smoke pot."

"Please wear a belt so that when you move a piano during the concert your butt crack does not show."

"Very cute skirt.  But, when you bent over to pick up the piano bench during the concert — well, you might not be aware that you were displaying all your assets."

Then there are students (or parents!) who write to me a week after graduation asking for recordings of and programs for every concert they've participated in during all their four years.  Um.  No.  

And let's not forget the faculty and patrons.  

Once, one of our guest performers asked me to rustle up a seven-foot-tall vagina from which she had intended to burst forth.  Because, you know, she couldn't bring her own on the airplane, and that's totally a reasonable request.  Sure, I happen to have a large vagina backstage.  As if that were not bad enough, I was required to "make some calls" to our scene shop on campus, the theaters around town.  So I did.  "Hello.  I have an odd question...."  

Last year two elderly patrons, regulars, would teasingly bicker about which of the ushers was more handsome, Max or Harry.  That seemed silly and cute until one woman started running her fingers through Max's hair and then patted his bottom.  After I learned about this bottom-patting incident, I hung out with the ushers for the rest of the semester, waiting, so I could protect them.  I rehearsed my line, "Yes, they are very handsome, but I'm sorry, ladies, we have a rule: no touching the ushers."  Alas, the child molesters stopped coming to concerts, so I didn't actually have to say it out loud.  But I was ready.  

Perhaps I'm not adaptable, or I'm naive, but I just never quite get over my astonishment, the things I am required to say when I'm dealing with student staff, faculty, and the public.  Continually blindsided.

Last night, Nick, another usher, came up to the sound booth.  "There's a man here who wants to bring his dog inside.  He says it's too cold in the car.  Could you talk to him?"  We went downstairs and I introduced myself.

"Hello!  I heard you have a chilly companion outside."

"Yes.  Now.  I have this thermometer on my key chain.  See?  And according to this, it's about seventy degrees inside here, and it's forty-one out in the car.  I told my wife, 'I don't think I want to stay for this concert if I'm just going to come outside to a dead dog, frozen!'"

He was wearing a jaunty tweed cap and appeared to be perfectly sane. 

"Ah.  I see."  

Actually.  No. No, I did not see.

"He's a friendly dog, a beagle.  I spread out some blankets for him, but he won't settle down, because he keeps seeing people walking by, coming in here for the concert, and he wants to be part of the action."

"Who doesn't!"  

Am I really having this conversation?

"So I want to know if it's okay if I bring the dog in.  He can be anywhere, here, upstairs, anywhere, as long as he's warm."

"Would he be quiet?"  

"Oh, sure!  He'll just go right to sleep."

So I suggested that if he wanted to try it, he could bring his dog in after the audience was seated, but if he were distressed or barked, he'd have to be removed.

The ushers looked apprehensive.  Because they were thinking what you are thinking: Wrong answer, Nicole.

After the concert was rolling, I sneaked away from the recording to peek over the balcony into the lobby to see how they were doing.  There he was, the beagle, in a jacket that was surely rated for 40 degrees.  But no owner.  The dog was surrounded by attentive late-comers and one perfectly delighted usher.  

What the hell?  

It really had not occurred to me that the gentleman might just leave the dog for the staff to watch.  

Naturally, I took a picture and posted it on Facebook.

"But he seems pretty happy in the lobby, except that he can't hear very well through the door."

"I know.  The poor dear can't hear a thing."

"Wait. THE DOG IS DEAF. Why would you bring a deaf dog to a music concert???"

Poor fella.

So now, of course, I know what I might or should have said, but, the thing is, this situation will probably never happen again.  I'll just get some new whacky request.  But, hey.  Dogs in the lobby are no biggie compared to harassment and the genitalia props requests, right?  Right.