Opening night at the Delicatessen

Light bulbs blinked cheerfully on and off around the entrance way, while above the door a backlit sign box broadcast the word HAM

The greasepaint on Walter’s face glowed in reflection of the bright light and revealed his upset expression. “They will think this is a bloomin delicatessen!” he shifted the plastic skull from under one arm to the other.

From somewhere on the side of the building someone called, “Is it better yet?”

Walter replied “No.” shaking his head, a movement which compelled his fingers to rub around the collar ruff where it chafed his neck. Too much starch. “Still looks like we are a bunch of amateurs. Which we are - but that’s not the point.”

For the past ten weeks the entire troop had been rehearsing every Tuesday night, and for the past three on Saturday afternoons also. All Walter could think right now was ‘Thank god one of them was an electrician, a hobbyist with a day job!'

“What about now?” called the disembodied voice. The sign flickered.

“Keep trying.” replied Walter, a trickle of sweat slid down his back, “you might be getting close.”

Over the past months they had perfected their show, through persistence and practise, and not to mention all the hands that helped with sets, sound and sales. It was not just one man that Walter currently held his breath for, it was an entire community. This was supposed to be the grand opening night.

“Hold it right there, you got it!” shouted Walter in an explosion of glee, and he leaped up into the air with jubilance, double heel clicking his happiness as the sign finally illuminated in its fullness!

HAMLET

The play could now go ahead!

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