My old magic shop was located on one of the busiest streets in Buffalo, NY.
This means - as any good city planner knows - it was also lined with parking meters.
Everyday people would pull into spaces in front of our large glass window. They would then proceed to get out of the car, search their pockets frantically for quarters, and then realize they needed to get change.
If the shop was empty - the moment I would see that search begin I would grab four quarters from our cash register. I would then stand, as still as I could, with the coins in my outstretched hand near the back counter of the shop.
Invariably, the coinless parker would turn and walk through our door - totally unaware of what kind of shop we were. Lost in their own thoughts, their only goal was to ask if I had change for a dollar.
Without a word, I would slowly open my already outstretched hand and look at the coins.
There was always a weird and wonderful moment of awkward silence as they realized the coins were now in front of them.
I would drop the coins into their hand and take the dollar. Without fail, they would look around the shop and - for the first time - notice all the weird props and posters lining the walls. The odd environment only served to push their brains a bit more off kilter.
Just as they would reach the door - I would break the silence by saying, “Watch your step.” Nine out of ten times, startled by my first words, they would turn back to me just as their foot hit the raised threshold of the door - causing them to stumble a bit. Typically, they would give an awkward smile and move quickly through the door. I would watch them walk out onto the sunlit street looking back foggily through our glass window.
Their bewildered look of “what the hell just happened” gave me never ending joy.
Most times they would forget to put the change in the meter.
Be prepared. Real magic seldom happens in the context of a theatre.
This means - as any good city planner knows - it was also lined with parking meters.
Everyday people would pull into spaces in front of our large glass window. They would then proceed to get out of the car, search their pockets frantically for quarters, and then realize they needed to get change.
If the shop was empty - the moment I would see that search begin I would grab four quarters from our cash register. I would then stand, as still as I could, with the coins in my outstretched hand near the back counter of the shop.
Invariably, the coinless parker would turn and walk through our door - totally unaware of what kind of shop we were. Lost in their own thoughts, their only goal was to ask if I had change for a dollar.
Without a word, I would slowly open my already outstretched hand and look at the coins.
There was always a weird and wonderful moment of awkward silence as they realized the coins were now in front of them.
I would drop the coins into their hand and take the dollar. Without fail, they would look around the shop and - for the first time - notice all the weird props and posters lining the walls. The odd environment only served to push their brains a bit more off kilter.
Just as they would reach the door - I would break the silence by saying, “Watch your step.” Nine out of ten times, startled by my first words, they would turn back to me just as their foot hit the raised threshold of the door - causing them to stumble a bit. Typically, they would give an awkward smile and move quickly through the door. I would watch them walk out onto the sunlit street looking back foggily through our glass window.
Their bewildered look of “what the hell just happened” gave me never ending joy.
Most times they would forget to put the change in the meter.
Be prepared. Real magic seldom happens in the context of a theatre.
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