Richard Charles Hunt
Profession: Angry Pensioner
I am not a drama person. If I’m honest the whole concept of pretending to be someone you are not was something I thought was reserved for Bankers and Con (Wo)Men (and professional actors I suppose). But for one night I decided to try something new.
As I arrived I found a mixed bunch. Labels didn’t seem to exist here. Cliques were banished. I couldn’t find anything to link any of these peculiar people together. I attempted to slink into a corner and blend in, but this was not the drama way. I was greeted whole-heartedly by what felt like a small army drama minions eager to know my name, what I studied, and just who I was as a person. These friendly people lured me into the room and immediately put me at ease. At this point I considered that perhaps they were all acting, and if they were, they were very good at it.
We were called to attention by a young man called Ryan, who I can only presume was some sort of drama leader. It was game time. For the first time since Primary School, we sat in a circle, and played a game. I won’t go into details about the game, for I certainly would not do it any justice, but it involved quick thinking, and frenetic movement, and I haven’t felt more alive in my inner-child in years. Then it ended.
I am a grumpy person at heart. So when the next session began, I was automatically on edge. We were pretending to be one of our friends and had to steer conversation (in a group of two or three) towards that friend’s favourite topic. This it turned out was to be my forte. I chose Economics, because my friends are boring, and I could ‘pretend’ to be grumpy. Chaos reigned for around 20 minutes before calm was restored by Ryan-the-Grand-Leader.
Next I was baffled by the appearance of a chair in the center of the room. But this wasn’t just any chair. It was a dog. It was a toothpick. It was a book, a feminine hygiene product, a baby, a wizards staff. It was anything you wanted it to be. The only time I have seen such imagination was with a bunch of 5-year-olds in a playground (I was around the same age, please don’t report me to the police), yet it was magical.
At this point I nearly left. All this excitement was too much for my bitter, churlish heart, and there is only so much merriment one can have before needing to eat pizza alone with a fuzzy copy of Titanic. But I stuck it out.
I’m not sure what happened next, because I needed the bathroom, but I’m sure it was great.
My return to the room of dramatics took far longer than expected, not for any real reason but that I got lost. This was one of the many unexpected highlights of my night as I found a shortcut to the Bus Stop. Upon my return I found all the drama llamas huddled in the middle of the room pretending to be shipwrecked. People crying. Screaming for help. This. Was. My. Jam.
Unfortunately Lord-of-all-Ryan cut this short before we could really feel the hopelessness of the situation and put us all on a ‘cruise-ship’, each with an individual agenda. This was fun until I realised that no one on the ship had ebola and no one was an active serial killer, but my attempts to find a trophy wife were most successful. And then the boat sank.
Overall I felt completely overwhelmed by weird emotions that I could liken to euphoria. But I won’t. I cannot deny that I hadn’t felt joy and freedom of the like in many years, yet deep inside I think I enjoyed it a bit too much, so I won’t be returning. Unless they stop having so much fun and tone down the frivolity.