Years ago when there was still the Roxy Theater, the palace at 50th Street and Seventh Avenue, I took a brief summer job as an usher.
One day during a matinee performance, a short man in an overcoat came walking down the aisle. In my most professional manner, I approached him and asked, “May I help you, sir?”
He drew himself up to all of his 5-foot 2-inch height and replied indignantly, “They give you a uniform; you think you’re a big shot!”
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