In the intermission after the first act of Austin's version of Die Fledermaus, I strolled into the lobby to take some medication. I retrieved a shotglass from my purse and filled it from the water fountain, then set it down on a table stacked with Fledermaus T-shirts while I fumbled for my pill box.
"Would you like to buy a T-shirt?" the very earnest-looking young man sitting behind the table asked.
"No, thank you. I just need to take some medicine," I said, breaking the pill in two.
I dropped the half pill before I got it to my mouth. "My pill!" I exclaimed. " I dropped my pill!"
I searched the carpet visually but couldn't see it anywhere. The young man, his eyes wide with alarm, stood up behind the table, ready to rush to my aid. "Are you all right? Will you be okay?"
"Oh yeah, it's just vicodin. I still have the other half." I tossed it down with my shotglass of water.
He looked at me in horror.
Taking mercy on him, I decided to explain: "I take half a vicodin after the first act so my legs won't bother me during the rest of the opera."
He continued to stare at me. I was getting annoyed.
"But if you find the other half, it's all yours! Enjoy!" I winked and double-timed it back to the auditorium.
Bet he had a good story to tell over lattes the next morning.