Waiting for Beth

Waiting for Beth has become almost as popular and certainly as absurd a tragicomedy as Samuel Beckett’s original, playing off-off Broadway in restaurants and bars in my hometown. In the past week I’ve sat waiting for my ex-girlfriend on a number of occasions – not including the two years in which she lived in California – and have realised that tardiness is a theme that concerns both plays.

In mine however the waiting is not in vain, but it is in discomfort. Waitresses watch from the wings, deployed one by one, with tilted head and sympathy, to ask if I need another drink, if I would like a starter, or if I might require a counsellor. It’s a surprise to them, and an enormous relief, when Beth shows up, by which time I’ve already had crab cakes, a chat with a professional and one too many Brewskies.