when: Trevor Noah scared me, twice
That evening I was scheduled to help present an event at Music Box, a trendy movie theater on Chicago’s north side in the Southport and Lakeview area. If you’re a person who takes the brow line, then you know exactly the place. If you peer north as the train stops at Southport, you can’t help but see the large marquee half-a-mile down the street glowing in red lights “Music” then across the bottom “Box.” It’s a Chicago landmark and the hot spot for independent films, screenings, parties, and on the particular night that I was on call— a live event with Trevor Noah, South African comedian, producer, and host of The Daily Show. He was on tour promoting his book, Born A Crime.
Trevor Noah fans are eager individuals. The event was general admission. The house sat about 750 and there really isn’t a lobby for a crowd that big to dawdle. Essentially once the doors open, there’s a ramp leading to the doors of the main theater essentially from the sidewalk right out side. One of my duties that evening was to help with people traffic.
I didn’t see Trevor all afternoon. This was dumb because his greenroom was basically a converted bar area with a few privacy curtains; a place that I had been into hundreds of times; a place that basically anyone could walk into without much effort; and a place that basically hides in plain sight. In order to make it to the stage, a person has to leave that space, walk into the lobby up the ramp I mentioned from above and into the theater. It’s the same path any layperson could take. So I assumed at some point I’d see him and introduce myself and explain my role in everything that was happening. That didn’t happen.
Doors opened. All the people came in. The event was sold out, people to the brim. I was so busy jumping hoops with all the front-of-house tasks that a saber tooth leopard could have walked in and I might not have noticed. People are typically pulling me in different directions, all sorts of questions, all sorts of answers needed. There are countless taps on my shoulder and sudden voices booming from behind that startle and surprise. “Where’s this? Where’s that” — the working girl’s lot. Still no sign of Trevor Noah, and at this point I sort of stopped looking, more puzzled by how two people in a square box didn’t see each other all day?
I finally laid eyes on him, but he was on already on stage and under the lights. He somehow took the layman’s path unseen. The event was funny. He was charming and made mention of quotes in his book, memories of things that happened to him, and anecdotes from his travels. Halfway through the event, I went into the lobby and plopped my feet on a bench and started Facebooking or Twittering for a stint. 30 minutes passed and a loud wave of applause came from within. This meant the event was over. This meant that I should get up and start helping to wrap things up. I took a position near the top of the ramp with my back towards the theater doors, still hearing applause and cheers from inside. ‘He did well,’ I thought to myself. They are eating it up. Good for Trevor Noah.
Waiting for the crowd to start their haul back out the building, I stood peering the path they would take as they headed out. I heard a theater door open and didn’t bother turning around. After all, the first few people out are typically the same people worried about their parking meter, nothing special.
“Excuse me,” came a gentle and asserted voice from behind with a slightly indistinguishable Midwestern accent— I thought. It took my by surprise because the person couldn’t have been more then two feet behind me. I turned and there was Trevor Noah, reaching to shake my hand. “I just want to say thank you for helping run my event tonight.” And in a soft waft of vetiver and perhaps spearmint he grabbed his coat, his accompanying entourage, and left.
‘Damn. He smelled good. Damn— he squeeze my hand hard,” is all I was left thinking.
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[ photo, originally color: Ethan Haddox ]
