The Magic of a Few Extra Minutes

People may look at me funny—or think I’m odd—for lingering outside a stage door after a show. That’s OK. I don’t mind. Because in all honesty, I’ve learned something: sometimes the best encounters happen if you’re willing to wait just a few minutes longer than it seems like you should.

Case in point:

Richard Thomas and me

One night after To Kill a Mockingbird, I was hovering near the stage door, debating whether to stay or go. No one was coming out. The security guards had already left. Even the wardrobe and makeup folks had gone. It truly felt like there was no one left to meet.

And then—just as I was about to leave—out walked Richard Thomas. Yes, THE Richard Thomas! Of all the people I imagined meeting at that hour, he wasn’t even on the list.

He ambled over, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder. “Are you waiting to meet me?” he asked with a wide, welcoming smile.

“Are you waiting to meet me?” he asked.

My tongue-tied, nearly speechless self managed something brilliant like, “I think so.”

He chuckled, signed my program with a flourish, and listened as I confessed that I’d had a crush on him since I was six years old. (True story: I remember playground debates over John-Boy vs. Almanzo Wilder. For me, it was always a tie.)

We chatted about the book (which I admitted I hadn’t read yet but promised that I would) and the show (which was incredibly powerful and moving).

Ten minutes later, he headed off one way, and I floated toward the parking garage—still in shock. If I’d left just two minutes earlier, I would have missed him completely. Instead, I’d had Richard Thomas all to myself in an unrushed, unforgettable conversation. He really is one of the nicest people on the planet.

And that’s the magic of waiting.

Fast forward to tonight:

I was assigned a post inside the theatre (not out in the lobby) for Life of Pi. When the show was over, the house emptied in about six minutes, clean-up took another six or so, and after grabbing my things I made it to the stage door a mere 16 minutes after the curtain fell. 

But by then? Everyone was gone.

It was a Friday night in the dead of summer, in a city overflowing with entertainment options. The cast was young, energetic, probably already out enjoying themselves. I sighed, checked my watch—10:36 p.m.—and decided to give it four more minutes. Just four.

A cupcake topped with a tiger sits in front of a "Life of Pi" program

To pass the time, I reorganized my bag and snapped a photo of the adorable tiger-topped cupcake a fellow usher had made to celebrate the show. And wouldn’t you know it—right as I was putting things away, someone rounded the corner.

It was Savidu Geevaratne.

“Hi,” he greeted cheerfully. “It’s good to see you again.”

We’d met a few days ago on a drizzly Wednesday night, when he and four castmates huddled on the stairs with me under the tiny roof above the stage door. We’d chatted for ten magical minutes before parting ways, and I’d promised I’d bring a gift to thank them.

Now here he was again, dashing upstairs for forgotten keys, then back down to find me waiting with his gift. When he saw his name on it, he looked shocked. “I thought it would be a group gift—with your name on it.”

Personalized mug rug I made for Savidu Geevaratne

“Why would my name be on it?” I teased.

He laughed, hugged me, and promised to tell the others I’d be back tomorrow night before disappearing into the night.

If I hadn’t waited those extra four minutes, I would’ve missed that sweet exchange. Was it short? Yes. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

So yes, people may think I’m odd for hanging back after the crowd has cleared. But every so often, those extra moments open the door (literally) to encounters I’ll never forget. Call it crazy, but I think it’s worth it. After all, some of the most wonderful people on the planet slip through that stage door—if you’re willing to wait.

Have you ever had a “worth the wait” moment at the stage door—or anywhere else in life? Share your story in the comments. I’d love to hear it!