Waiting for Godot, I Wanted to Steal Gogo's Shoes

I saw Waiting for Godot at the Paramount in Boston last night.

I thought the play was over when the curtain dropped and the lights came up after the first act. All that was left on stage was Lucky's hat and Gogo's shoes. I wanted to steal those shoes, and the hat too.

A few people got up, but a lot of people stayed seated. I stood there puzzled, and spent a good half of what turned out to be the intermission waiting for the others in my row to get up to let me pass.

In the front lobby, a large man was holding forth before a small group struggling with their coats about how they were following the example of the mass exodus of the audience at the 1955 London premiere, except that those people were exiting in protest while their little group just had another place to be and had gotten a good taste of the experience.

Two thoughts then occurred to me. Those London audiences probably thought, like me, that the play was over. There was a second act still to come. I went in search of the bar. Three thoughts.

It's probably just as well that I didn't find the bar on the second floor until just after the call to return to seats. Getting liquored up would have opened me up to getting rolled by the drunks under the moonlight and the almost leafless trees of Boston Common on the walk back to the subway for the ride home. Samuel Beckettt, though, would have been proud.