Inadvertently scamming the Gilbert & Sullivan Society
My best guy friend and I live two blocks away from each other, and we share one very particular interest: Gilbert & Sullivan.
My best guy friend and I live two blocks away from each other, and we share one very particular interest: Gilbert & Sullivan.
William S. Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan were the writer-composer duo who created 14 comic operas in the late 19th century. Their humor is satirical and heavy on wordplay and pokes fun at Victorian England and theatrical clichés of the day.
Don't make that face. Before Hamilton and rap musicals, there were patter-songs.
While others bonded over keg stands in college, my friend and I grew close standing on stage in various G&S productions. So when he found the Gilbert & Sullivan Society of New York on Facebook, we had to go to a meeting.
I remember when we first walked into the church basement where the club meets, someone helpfully asked us whether we were lost. (This happened again at the second and third meetings we attended.)
We're about 50 years younger than the typical member.
That didn't stop us. My friend and I were both close to our grandmothers, and we appreciate the value of intergenerational friendship. The members showed us the only authentic, top-notch diner in Midtown, and my friend redesigned the group's website to make it actually functional.
The problem is that, for nearly a year, we didn't pay any dues, though not for lack of trying.
The first time, the club president said it was a month before the end of their membership year, so he insisted we wait to buy in at the next meeting.
But we didn't go to the next meeting. We went a few months later and offered again to pay, but the treasurer wasn't there that night, and whomever we spoke to was worried he'd lose track of our 20 bucks.
After that, we felt so guilty for singing free and mooching the refreshments of Nilla wafers and apple juice, we wouldn't take no for an answer.
The treasurer still resisted. "Well, it's the middle of the season, so I could prorate your dues."
"Don't worry about it, really," I pleaded. "I'm happy to pay, we want to support."
"All right, then. And if you both join today, you can save money with a joint membership."
"Sure." Anything to get him to agree and alleviate our guilt.
We paid in cash. Then he told us to fill out a form to get our membership cards and monthly newsletter, the Palace Peeper.
With great pride, he informed us, "We send out a proper paper newsletter, not a virtual one on the email."
To be fair, I sound like this when I talk about Snapchat. Time comes for us all.
It was only when we were filling out the form later that I saw there was space for only one address.
"Oh, no, I think they think we're married," I said to my friend.
"Nah, you just have to write small."
We looked at each other for a beat, brows furrowed.
I know, what did I think joint membership meant? A platonic, bring-a-friend discount? I can say only that our misunderstanding was genuine. I'm so single that married-people perks don't immediately come to mind.
We certainly never said we were a couple.
But then I started thinking: We do always attend meetings together.
And after one meeting, in a discussion of cab-sharing with some other members, I said, "We live in the West Village."
I we'ed them!
And at the Mikado sing-through in the summer, when they asked how each of us came to love Gilbert & Sullivan, I recalled my friend's answer:
"We actually met our freshman year of college in a production of Pirates of Penzance. I was a pirate- "
"- and I was a maiden," I chimed in.
"We got paired up for the Act 1 finale dance- "
"- and he almost dropped me!"
"I did, I almost dropped her. But we've been big fans ever since."
We told them our meet-cute.
At that moment, I realized we had accidentally scammed the Gilbert & Sullivan Society of New York, a group of perfectly lovely senior citizens.
We are so going to hell.
When it's time to renew, I swear, we will definitely spring for two individual memberships. Right now, I'm too embarrassed to correct them.
Some day, we'll break it to them that we were never a couple and that we won't be giving birth to the next generation of modern major millennials.
Maybe when they're older.
Look for Lisa and Francesca's latest humor collection, "Does This Beach Make Me Look Fat?" Also, look for Lisa's new Rosato & DiNunzio novel, "Corrupted," in stores now, and her new emotional thriller, "Most Wanted" coming April 12.