I get to watch the crowds arriving for Canada Rocks Obligatory Exclamation Point while I'm standing selling swag. I watch people ignoring those they're standing with while talking on cell phones, perusing my wares while sloshing glasses of red wine, or ignoring the flashing lights signalling 5 minutes to curtain.
About once a week, a handsome man enters the lobby area. He's casually well-dressed, tall (or sometimes not so), has nicely-cared-for hair, and isn't screaming into a cell phone. Usually, if he's alone, it's only briefly. Soon his short, cute, girlfriend arrives with flawless skin and the ability to purposefully walk in 3-inch heels.
I then roll my eyes and think, "typical."
Last night, the king of handsome guys came into the lobby. He was by himself, but he wasn't distractedly looking towards the doors. He got a drink and wandered the lobby, waiting for the doors to the theatre to open. Then he disappeared off my visual radar. He didn't look like an underwear model or anything - he was more of the Patrick Dempsey calibre of handsome.
When I saw him again, it was intermission. I pointed him out to Megan, who had already taken notice of his magnificence. Ahh. His notoriety preceded me.
At the end of the night, I overheard Kelly and Katie speaking of a Ridiculously Hot Guy. The RHG! Every usher in the place had filed this guy away in her memory banks. We all had a moment recounting fond memories of the RHG, and then went our separate ways. They had to drop cashes in a safe, and I left the building, walking right by RHG speaking with the lady who plays Marilla in Anne.
Oh, RHG. Who are you? How'd you get so H?
I usually don't like using the word hot as an adjective for a guy. It's not very descriptive, and a bit giggly schoolgirl, and, oh, let's say something else about... objectifying men. Yeah - that's a bad thing.