I glanced over at B.J. again to see if he was paying attention. He wasn’t; he was fast asleep. Worse yet, he had fallen asleep on the shoulder of an older gentleman sitting on the other side of him. If the man was bothered by B.J.’s giant head resting on him, he graciously didn’t make a big deal about it, which is crazy because B.J.’s head is like 30 percent of his total body weight. All the older gentleman did was throw me a look like: I guess this guy is just gonna sleep on me? I mouthed, I’m so sorry! and reached over to wake him up. The man shook his head like No, don’t bother, perhaps knowing that sleeping B.J. was better than fidgety B.J. We both turned back to the play to watch its dramatic conclusion (spoiler alert: I think the priest did it, and I think the nun had doubt about it?).
Thankfully, at curtain call, the riotous applause and standing ovation woke B.J. up. He was pink-faced and disoriented, like a man who had been asleep for a year. In the cartoon version of this, he might have leapt out of his seat, saying, Who dat? Where is I? looking around, frightened, with a long gray beard. B.J. saw that he had been napping on his seatmate and apologized. The man nodded politely.
As soon as the lights came up, several people rushed toward us. My first thought was that these were fans of The Office who wanted to talk to B.J. and me, and I was prepared to take a few photos. Ah, the trials of stardom! I thought as I touched up my makeup. I was wrong. They didn’t want to talk to us. They wanted to talk to the older gentleman seated next to us. Because it was Edward Albee. Edward Albee, our greatest living playwright, American treasure, who watched Doubt from beginning to end and loved it, all while a bored B.J. Novak slept on him.