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  • Writer's pictureBroadway Beat

Refined Patron Asks to Speak to the Managre

by Matt Keeley. @reallymattkeeley.

LONDON - Shock and dismay appeared to be the pre-show act this past weekend on the West End, or at least to one particularly refined Barbican ticket holder whose sophistication necessitated they speak to the theater’s managre.

“I must say, in all my years as a patron of the arts, I’ve never experienced such poor service! Let me speak to your managre. No, not that one. The managre!” complained the aggrieved patron Mallory Eleanor Cornwall, referring of course to the metaphysical artistic expression and not the building. “I’ve been queuing in line - cheque in hand - waiting to receive my ticket, yet unable to manoeuvre myself closer for well over ten minutes now. In my day, this kind of behaviour would not be permitted in a cultural institvte such as this!”

Amid the kerfuffle, Barbican Theatre house staff rallied to address her concerns posthaste.

“It is the highest duty of our audience services department to ensure the needs of all guests are met, especially those whose impeccable standards are a hallmark of the English theatre,” explained Barbican senior manager Sheree Miller, whose attempts to ameliorate, mollify, and otherwise assuage Cornwall’s concerns fell on deaf ears. “We even offered a complimentary champagne and seating upgrade. Yet my humble title as Deputy Head of Audience Experiences & Operations instilled no confidence. I was forced to make a phone call I hadn’t in a long time.”

Minutes later, the lobby doors flew open under a fanfare of trumpets to reveal a glowing, ruff-adorned senior member of the Barbican staff.

“Pardon me, Madam. ‘Tis I, the managre,” the figure intoned, removing a wide brimmed hat with a peacock feather and bowing deeply. “It offends me to my very soul to see such a fair-minded, high-browéd, upstanding season ticket holder suffer such indignity. To wait among the common rabble of the mezzanine section purchasers is injury enough, but to lingre unmoving in line for a quarter of an hour is nigh unforgivable! Please, allow me to lie prostrate to allay thy sweet bunions with this humble flesh.”

Finally satisfied with the offer, Ms. Cornwall sent her thanks to Barbican staff for their excellent customre service.


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