FISHER PRICE’S MY FIRST FIRST NATIONAL TOUR

Our story begins on the way to a diminishing city, far upstate New York, where the snow keeps falling and dreams continue to be deferred. The skies are an ominous grey, and it’s the time of year when it gets dark at 4:30 PM. It is a story is about two friends who are the best of friends. These two friends work together as frequently as possible. This is not only because they are consummate collaborators. They do it because when they are together, they have the greatest of times. They could not be more different. They could not be more the same. They are two friends in the shadow of a fading city, eyeball deep in the worst job they have ever had and ever will have, living through a personal hell akin to doing Annie at a roadside dinner theater somewhere like Peoria. No offense to anyone from Peoria, but when you’ve been on Broadway, a $1500 gig in Peoria doesn’t look so good.

I also suppose I should write the disclaimer now that the company I write about is NOT Geva. I actually was contracted to do a show there for that spring, and they were nothing but AMAZING. So we’re going to call the company D-bag productions, and the theater the MCPA, to protect the innocent in this story.


THE FIRST DAY

We arrived in Rochester after a calm, uneventful ride from the big city after also having stopped in Ithaca. We wanted to have dinner at Just a Taste, our favorite restaurant in all of America (and we’ve been lots of places) and J wanted meet my friend David who was teaching there. We spent a fantastic couple of hours talking over good wine and mouth-watering Tapas. David was trying to convince us that what he was going through was worse than what we were about to experience. We, of course, begged to differ.

You see, J and I had yet to hear about where we were to stay in Rochester. We had NO idea as where we were supposed to go when we got there...to the apartments? To the warehouse where we were to tech the clothes and set without lights and a crew? Which sweet level of hell were we to experience that evening? Because of this I sat my Palm Treo on the table. I hate having a phone out at dinner and also people who check their phones consistently during meals, but I HAD to have it there to see if they would call. We were only an hour and a half away, and there was no word to guide us. Neither one of us had ever even BEEN to Rochester, and we only had a cheap gas station map to get us around. Finally, after we delayed as long as possible, we got back on the road.

After an hour of driving and several wrong turns on the dark unmarked country roads on the west side of Cayuga Lake, we received a call from an unknown number in the appropriate area code. The news was that J and I were staying together in an apartment and we to meet some guy to get the keys. They made it sound like a favor to us that we were getting our own rooms; everyone else had to share. We both agreed that in our thirties this was too much to ask, and that they really had to be kidding.

Then the “Production Manager,” if you can call him that, drops the bomb: The truck carrying the set which was to be loaded in that evening was broken down only an hour outside of NYC, and won't be in Rochester until 5 PM the next day, which would be 24 hours late. Lesson one learned: Pay for appropriate trucking company. One of the producers, against Jerry (the lighting designer) and J’s wishes, decided to RENT A FUCKING UHAUL so the poor 24 year old carpenter who was driving the truck was stuck outside in the dead of winter waiting for someone to tow the truck for five hours when it broke down. So compared to Phil, we weren’t having so bad a day, frankly.


THE SECOND DAY

On the second day…Hell hath frozen over. We awoke to a cold apartment and gray skies. We did not have breakfast, after realizing that on our Wegman's trip the night before we did not purchase anything to cook eggs with. Our apartment did not come with no-stick cookware, and we had no PAM, or butter, or frankly, anything. So I couldn't even cook the eggs we’d bought. This proved to be an omen. After a chugged down a cup of coffee, J and I emerged into the white abyss and went on another shopping trip. This time for the necessities--paper towels, dish soap, decongestant, nasal spray, bourbon. Between waking up and the time we skidded out of the parking lot of our apartment into oncoming traffic, it had snowed 3 inches and no trucks had been out with salt or sand. Needless to say, my poor car Gertie had no traction as she is a convertible VW Cabrio (OK, yes, I know I bought a car with a similar name to mine; laugh now it’s not like I haven’t heard it before).

After getting lost only six times that morning, and finally getting some food (we are both quite crabby if we don’t eat) we were given a tour of the producer’s rehearsal space/warehouse. It was not a storage space. It was not stock for props or costumes. The building was a converted old elementary school. It shall henceforth be known as “the pit of despair.” Something must have died there because we have to cover our faces in that way reporters do when entering a house full of crap. We pulled the cuffs of our sleeves of our sweaters over our noses, squinting so as not to let biohazard we entered into our soft tissue. Imagine, if you will, the worst, most putrid smell you’ve ever inhaled, and then multiply it by the thousands.

After 2 hours of itchy eyes and sniffles, tears and wishing we’d brought the Maker’s with us, we ended up having a production meeting. We learned that no one had purchased or acquired hand props. And that I didn’t have a stitcher. And that we actually, still, didn’t have a theater in which to perform. Oh, did I mention that that there's no lighting equipment? And that the truck, meanwhile, the truck with the set was still, sadly, stuck somewhere outside NYC? Even though they were supposed to be loading it into the warehouse in a short hour?

In the green room/fitting room/all purpose room/one of 2 heated rooms at the MCPA, there is a sign made by a child with fingerpaint palmprints all around it. It said, "Only in the dictionary does success come before work.” Jerry looked up at it, as we three sat on the moldy couch without cushions, and said, "Yes, and it also only comes after Budget. And Cash."

The one good thing that came out of the meeting was that finally they are decided to throw us some more money for the show. However, that wasn’t going to stop the pain. J developed a terrible sinus headache...which won't go away because of the mental and existential pain that was inflicted on us by D-Bag productions. That night, we might be teetering on OK, but looking at the next day, would anyone come to our defense? Will there be a set to tech on? Will there be a theater to perform in? Tomorrow, would I be loading costumes into a warehouse or will I be, sitting here again, with a knot in my tummy and a lump in my throat, wondering if Saturday will bring us such sweet pain. Tomorrow will we come out alive???

THE THIRD DAY

I woke up on the third morning, thinking to myself, "I am still here?" My day looked pretty standard for my job…fittings at 11 AM for 6 hours with a lunch break. Not too bad.

J plans were to drive with Jerry to rent props from a theater she’d done the show at before. And because, of course, it was the lighting designer’s job to drive the set designer to pick up props…In any case, everyone associated with the MCPA kept saying "that theater is only 1 1/2 away.." and I kept saying, "it's got to be at least 2 hours..." and lo, it was 2 1/2 hours in the truck. In the snow.

J had asked that these particular props be pulled by the MCPA in October because no one is at the theater over the winter, and it’s in a part of upstate NY that gets enough snow to make the trip to the prop shop impassable. So in the dead cold of December, through 3 feet of snow, they lugged telephone poles, a Barca lounger, a sofa, and various lawn ornaments....not to mention that every time they had to get from the theater to the Penske truck (note, NOT a U-Haul…), they had to hike over not only the snow but a pigeon barbeque that a Raccoon had. The raccoon had torn the pigeon down to the smallest possible parts; molted feathers, blood, and a sad, singular foot with a bone sticking out.... There were pigeon guts strewn across the parking lot....yet, they had to, every 7 minutes or so...climb over the poor foot with the singular feather blowing in the wind.

Despite this, everything seemed fine. Yes, they lugged heavy shit out of the second floor of the prop shop...but in that way that you can be positive despite ridiculousness, everything was okay. Misery likes company, and they were keeping good company. Then...the phone rang. What Jerry learned, in that fateful phone call, was that despite the fact that the understanding was that the lighting equipment rental absolutely HAD to be put completed by noon...the production manager decided he wanted to wait for Jerry to get BACK to the office...which he DAMN well knew wasn't going to be until at least 5 PM, when the rental shops CONVENIENTLY close.

Well, J and Jerry wouldn't get to the office unless they clicked their heels or strapped a rocket pack to the back of the Penske...so needless to say, we still didn’t have lights. Jerry was told that supposedly the order would go through the next day, at a much more expensive shop because it was the only one open on a Saturday. And his response to all this was merely "I am not going to lie to you...in Big Boy theatre, the lighting designer gives you equipment lists and just shows up." Boy, I wish I was that calm....

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...I had 6 fittings with all the actors watching the other actors get in their costumes...there is NOTHING like doing a semi-private fitting, and then, I learn, at 4 PM, that I DON'T HAVE ANYONE TO DO ALTERATIONS AFTER that day. And, that they haven't finished 1/3 of the show. So I call the PM myself even though we weren’t “supposed to” because he is “Soooo busy” and he only asks me whose fault it is. I don't give a fucking shit whose FAULT it is that the alterations are not done, I say, I just need people to do the sewing, and we go back and forth, and finally, he decides that he can't help me and answers a million other questions other than the one I asked.

To take a break to get away from the mold, I went to Wal-mart to purchase the kit for the wardrobe supervisor/swing/asm who has never done it before. It felt good to be so productive. With $500 worth of shit in my car, I drive from the theater (after loading the costume bins myself into the truck down from the 2nd floor with no help) to the warehouse where we set up and are rehearsing for the next 3 days. It was "an easy drive" they said. An easy drive, yes, until you get to the scary, dark and murder-zone industrial park and can't find the warehouse because there is no part of the directions that say to the right, through a scary narrow driveway and in the back where murderers and rapists are waiting in the dark to kill you.

Our idiot stage manager dropped my supplies and costumes BEHIND the set and expected me to move it around the rooms into the dressing rooms. Fortunately, the sound designer helped me drag the boxes. All of the stuff I’d just bought, and also the stuff that had been shipped. I barely cleared the set because the SM had dropped everything right where it was hard to get through. To top it off they'd brought a sewing machine with the wrong bobbin, and set me up an ironing board against a wall with no outlets and no iron at all. I hadn't eaten for most of the day, and was starving but had to unload all the costumes myself.

At this juncture, J and Jerry arrived back at the warehouse. J called one of the producers and said, "Jen's gonna quit, and the PM…he is a big liar." The producer, I think, thinks the PM is just an idiot and doesn't know he's lying, but actively lies to cover his ass because all he cares about is his coming out on top looking good. Which we all know he's a liar at this Cultish Community Theater...

After having a complete meltdown (including tears) when J and Jerry got back from being far away, saying I was going to quit, another producer, came through and basically said to do what I needed. We had a futile conversation with the PM who wanted to blame the crew and myself for the costumes not being done “I didn't KNOW we needed the costumes ready for first tech he said...when did you say that?????" he yelled at me. I screamed back, as only the Italian that I am can do, that “on every conference call for the past 10 weeks!!!!!!”
It is at that point, after getting home that night, that J and I sat, in our apartment, drinking (and I blogging) and bitching about this whole experience...awaiting the snowstorm coming our way...(Sunday...12-36 inches...) that will, again, halt our progress. And I VOWED, again, that J and I ARE LEAVING on the 19th, in the evening...I don't care HOW LATE because, because, because, WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE.


THE FOURTH DAY

Every morning we woke up, we hoped that the day would be an improvement upon the prior. I mean, after what we 4 had been experiencing for the past week gets more and more unbelievable every day. J had to go shopping today with Jerry who apparently became her chauffeur (We can't WAIT until he turns his mileage receipts in.) I was supposed to have 2 stitchers that day, but learned early on that they weren’t coming in.

It was a day of phone calls…

Phone call #1 (In the car on way to MCPA Warehouse). J’s phone rings.

J: (sigh) Hello?
Douchemonkey (the Production manager): Just wanted to let you know the schedule's changed. We will be giving the actors off tomorrow because of the storm, but tech will still be coming in. This is primarily for our costume designer because stitchers will be coming.
J: Well, I don't think Jen will be coming in either because there will be 3 feet of snow...
Douchemonkey: OK, just telling you.

Phone call #2 (Just 1 minute later) to my cell phone.

Me: (Sigh) Hello?
Douchemonkey: Just wanted to let you know the schedule's changed. We will be giving the actors off tomorrow because of the storm, but tech will still be coming in. This is primarily so that you can have a day with the costumes without actors.
Me: But if the actors are staying in because of the storm, isn't the storm bad enough that we should all stay in?
Douchemonkey: (pause) Well, it may not be that bad, and tech is still expected to work.
Me: Isn't it a bit unethical to say that one group of people should be safe and not come in, but other should have to brave the storm and come in? In three feet? With 30 mile per hour Nor'Easter winds?
Douchemonkey: (Pause) OK. Just telling you.

Upon realizing ourselves expendable, we arrive at the warehouse finding it mostly empty and mostly locked but for one door and one human: Douchemonkey. J ran up to him and said, "What's the story morning glory!" with a big stupid grin on her face as I said, "Hey there MISTER!" and made a bee-line for the wardrobe room/greenroom/dressing room/kitchen/very very cold space. J's theory is that she's going to be so nice to him he can't be mean to her to her face. I can't handle it and I don't care.

So J and Jerry abandoned me and I was left alone with the clothes. I proceeded to stitch for 9 hours. There was no one else to do it, and I wasn’t even playing the martyr. I was making less than I’d ever made doing this FIRST NATIONAL TOUR. Ms. Parole was taken off my show and then given back to me from 2-4. Another woman came in and helped for 2 hours. She went to Mass in-between her hours--I asked her to put in a good word for us. I was told I'd have a person who could machine stitch for 8 hours, and have the supervisor hand sew. The stage manager took the supervisor and, well, I had two eager folks stitching for me but quite slowly and for only 4 hours total (one of which pinned for an hour).

I did learn one thing--that I’d pre-judged Ms. Parole, and that despite the fact that she did time for stealing from the til to make Meth, well, despite it she truly loves her children and her family. She's trying to get her life back on track to help her boys go to college if they want to. She thinks one who loves dinosaurs will be an anthropologist. I think that's wonderful, and I hope she can do it for them.

Back to J. Here's a more depressing day than mine: at about 2 PM this afternoon, while dragging the ass-end of a 1973 Chevy out of a salvage yard, she received the dreaded cell phone call.

Call #6:

J: Hello (imagine, slightly ticked off)
Producer (Sheepishly): You know, I didn't have the debit card when your rain curtain got approved, and it MUST have slipped through the cracks. (Giggle, giggle).
J: OK.
Hangs up phone.

Call #7 (5 minutes pass...)

Producer: Hey J, I was thinking, why don't you mock up some muslin drops for all the soft good we didn't order yet?
J (internally): Why don't you suck my ass?
J (Actually): That's a waste of time. We'll rig the real goods when the get here. We have so little time and money I don't want to waste it by making fake stuff.



Call #43 (to me @ 2:43 PM)

Me: Yes?
Producer: So SM said that you have two people there stitching...
Me: No. He lied. He keeps lying. I'm the only one who's calling him out on his shit and no one is listening to me.
Producer: Well, I don't think he's intentionally lying.
Me: I do, I'm here, and no one else is. You know, last night at 7:30 PM my stitcher was vomiting in buckets backstage at his show. He saw the PM and told him that he was sick and couldn't work today. The PM talked to me at 9 PM and said that my stitcher would be in at noon. My stitcher called me this morning to relay the story about the PM to say he was not coming in, and no one had actually called him to tell him he was supposed to stitch, IN ADDITION to calling a show that went up at 5 PM (While vomiting). So ultimately, after a long discussion, they finally got me the two people for like 3 minutes.
Producer: I think you’re over-reacting. Can’t you sew?
Me: “Click”. I hang up the phone.

What else? J and Jerry trashed the back room of a Kmart looking for the 2 lawn chairs that were supposed to be there...I made the world's worst breakaway pants because the woman who pinned them for an hour cut them wrong...Phil spilled coffee all over the costumes, and I only had a mild reaction which came out in a minimal sigh...which he ran to clean the table, J pulled up the fabrics, and I just sat there finishing the hem on the very badly made ripaway pants. I did manage the energy to shake off the ugly halter top with the "relax" of "Frankie Says Relax" in sequins. J Managed to jam the sewing machine 3 times in 5 minutes while making curtains.

Long story short, we were all fucked. Jerry got his order placed but was going to have to commute from Rochester to Tonawanda for the next week when he's in tech. J wasn’t going to get any time to dress the set because Monday and Tuesday were changed to actor rehearsal days, and Wednesday, we supposedly load in the set and lighting in Tonawanda. I sewed the costumes myself. I have a master's degree. J has a master's degree. We worked on Broadway. We were reliving a hell we hadn’t lived in years.

A brief note on the rehearsal report from that evening:

“Set: A few major set concerns. We still don't have the right lawn chairs. We need 2 pairs of handles on the Motel door. The rehearsal camera has disappeared? The flan box may be too heavy and tends to sag on the actress. Other prop notes have been discussed and are working.”

J: "A HANDLE ON THE DOOR? REHEARSAL CAMERA DISAPPEARED! I don't think those are major set concerns."

The costume notes:
“Jen was in today working through. Two seamstresses were present to help. The cast worked with some costume pieces that were ready. Work will continue Monday and Tuesday. Any additional help that can be found would be useful.”

Me: (In email format cc’d to everyone): I would first like to thank who was available for 2 hours today and who also volunteered for about 2 1/2 hours. Thanks, for getting them to me even though they were able to only be there for a few hours.

I just couldn't let them think that the PM actually did his job. It sounded, in the report, like he did. And I had to nicely point out the real situation. J's email continued to say how ridiculous it was that now she has no time to do anything.

THE FIFTH DAY

Nothing out of the ordinary to report today. J, Jerry and Phil went to the warehouse and got some work done despite the snowstorm. I stitched at home. We even discovered a local diner. We all enjoyed eggs, toast and hash browns or home fries. I stole some of LD's pancakes. It was delightful. We braved the snow, and it was worth it.

It was a small glimmer of a hope of a day--some hope brought back into a situation that was proving to be quite glum. J watched a video of people in the Bronx without heat. I watched something on CNN about women in Afghanistan who set themselves on fire to get out of marriages or family, even after the Taliban has been ousted out of power. Suddenly, our trials seemed quite a bit less dire, and I think I put myself back into right mindfulness and it's all in perspective again. Things could be a lot worse, COMPARATIVELY. I'm still angry, but not quite so much.


THE SIXTH DAY

Today started innocently enough. The sun was shining despite the previous day’s blizzard. We could see the light at the end of the tunnel (And whether it was a train, or the end, we’ll not know for a few days…) Things seemed ok.

And then....

I was at Wal-Mart returning an iron that was dirty when I bought it Friday (That didn't quite stop me from using it this weekend...)

Phone call #1.
J: Hello?
General Manager: Hi, um, so your Rain Curtain won't get here till Thursday, which means you won't get to see it because you’ll be gone. They know what to do, right?
J: But I won't have seen it....Sigh.

We got in the car and found a new and faster way to our warehouse. Biting back anger, J suggested that she fly back from Buffalo and if it was OK if I drove back alone (I had to be back in NYC for my dead uncle’s memorial by 7 PM that Thursday). Of course, it's OK, but I felt sad that she had to stay an extra night by herself, though she has LD and P to keep her sane, I can't help but feel sad that at least we'd be tortured together if I were there.

We got to the space, and of course, my stitcher wasn't there and I had to pick up my dear dear friend and the wig designer, Bob. As I was running out to the car to get him, Ms. Parole showed up with the PM (Douchemonkey), and I sent her in to J to get the notes (because THAT's J's job...to dole out costume notes to an ex-con who is an hour late to work because her BOSS couldn't get her there on time...) Anyway, Bob's plane was only 25 minutes late, and I was glad to be sitting in the parking lot having nothing to do with the play.

I got him back to the space, where he ACTUALLY got the people he needed for fittings while I had to go have a meeting with the REAL Lort B theater in town about a show I'm designing there in February. (For twice as much money. With the same budget. And 1/25th of the costumes).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...Ms. Parole proceeded to tell the following very sad story. "My sister was murdered at 26 in Tennessee by a man she met at a truck stop. My baby brother blew his brains out when he got home from desert storm. My first baby boy died of SIDS and my mother told me it was my fault."

J thought it was like Ms. Parole vomited her sorrow on her while she sat there thinking..."I have two parents who loved me and I'm a set designer." What do you say to all that? And now, you're here? How do we complain about anything? Pain is so fucking relative. Perhaps that is what this experience is teaching us....

Yet despite Ms. Parole’s sad, sad story, the day was pretty monotonous and chill. I got lost on my way back to the warehouse trying to find a drag queen shoe store and some hairspray and got back 2 hours late with VERY tasty tofu bbq. The stupid brother sewing machine I bought fought with J all day (Note to self: $78.99 sewing machines suck. They barely stitch velcro onto anything. And definitely don't stitch webbing.).

Then, after a trip to the loo, J was accosted by Douchemonkey IN the bathroom.
Douchemonkey: We need to talk somewhere private.
J: uh, uh, ok.
Douchemonkey: I need to talk to you about all the money you've been spending.
J: What?
Douchemonkey: All the money on the home depot card.
J: I don't have the home depot card so you need to include Phil on the convo.
They got Phil.
Douchemonkey: You spent too much money.
It all boiled down to this: Of the $898 spent on the Home Depot card, only $365 has been on Scenery, and the rest was on Phil's road kit, which was all approved.

Phone call # 53 (It was a slow day...)
J: (on voicemail). Producer, it's J. I just got scolded for spending money that I did not spend. Thank you.

We had a decent run with wigs and costumes for the first time. It was kind of a miracle, and Bob was told by only 3 of the actors how to do his job. One actress said, "I can't hear, it must be because I have hair!"

That was AWESOME. Better than the time an actress cried because I made more space in the hood of her costume and she cried because, to quote her, "YOU CAN SEE MY EARS!!!! YOU CAN SEEEEEEE MY EEEEEEEEEEEEEARS!!!"

After sitting through notes for the actors, we finally did some tech notes, and Jerry almost broke (after chauffeuring again all day.) They blamed him for something that wasn't his fault (BIG SHOCK). They'd said his equipment wouldn't be there until Wednesday, and then he said fine, and then both the idiot SM and Producer started to scold him because for some reason, someone said it all had to get there Tuesday and they started playing the blame game when Jerry said it was OK that his lighting package didn't get there until Wednesday. AGAIN, twisting words, twisting words.

OH--and the producers don't want to pay for a harness for an actress to climb a 14 foot telephone pole. CUZ THAT IS SMART.

Alas, at 11:37:
Phone call #72 (it really was a slow day.)

"I ACTUALLY SAW A MOMENT OF TRUE UNDERSTANDING ON THE PRODUCTION MANAGER’S FACE." LD said.... He gave LD 12 hours to hang, focus, and WRITE cues before actors are onstage for an audience. For the first time, he said something useful, "I will get those lights for you tomorrow."

Today broke J. She burst into tears at the kitchen table in front of her computer. She and Jerry are where I was when I had my meltdown last week. She kept repeating that it IS SO against her nature to be so angry, so so angry (We're talking black belt in Karate here...). I reminded her that she has beyond paid her dues, and the people here seem to think that she (and all of us) need to pay our dues. That we're YOUNG designers (a quote from GM). I was told, "You're Young, you can handle it?" How many designers my age have a Broadway show, extensive regional credits, and a major opera under our belts? How many designers J's age have been an associate on 3 Broadway shows, have extensive regional credits, and teach at one of the best theater schools in the country? Fuckers, fuckers fuckers. We have MASTER'S DEGREES!!!!!

Our master's degree didn't come with a course entitled, "Working for Retards 101." Frankly, we'd have needed "Working for Retards 425". And from now on, we've decided we need to have a "Retarded Clause" in our contracts that lets us out if there is anything even moderately retarded pointed in our general direction. I'd like to use the retarded lifeline, I need to call a friend.

J: You have 60 seconds...let me ask you a question...
Me: "Yes J, there is a retarded clause, you can leave."
Jerry doesn't want a lifeline, he wants a mafioso connection.

My soul was killed long ago.
J's soul broke tonight.
Jerry soul can't break, it just gets angry. He's gonna cry himself to sleep!!!




THE SEVENTH DAY

WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT A DAY OF REST?

I apologize, dear friends and relatives, for posting this so late. Our stellar housing's internet went down and no one could seem to just restart the router...so here I write from a warm and toasty room at a spa in a town that might as well be home (though it's halfway there...)
More drama has occured...so no worries, the blog will go on....


When J and Jerry walked into the apartment this evening after what proved to be yet another unbelievable day, we contemplated whether or not this show was a sign of the oncoming apocalypse. Is Fisher Price’s My First National Tour destined to be driven by one of the four horsemen? Or is this just Fisher Price’s My First Apocalypse. Or merely a cruel joke. For I feel that one of the four horsemen would not order his truck to be only 7 feet tall instead of 8’6” that was spec’d and spoken of once a week for a mere 10 weeks.

Mind you, the scenery was drawn to fit into said 8’6” truck.

Let me rewind to the beginning of today.

J had a nightmare last night. She dreamed that she, her husband, myself, my husband, and another couple we know from happier times were all living in a house. I had dyed my cat, Grinch, green, and had taken to calling her Wench. I was yelling at J a lot, especially regarding Wench/Grinch. What this dream means, we will never know, but that’s how her day began. Mine started a wee less rough—I didn’t fall asleep until after 3 and had to get up at 6 to drive Bob to the airport. Jerry started his day at the warehouse at 9 with Phil. They were waiting for the welder who didn’t show until after 11. They had to buy a harness for safety for an actress to climb an uncomfortably tall piece of scenery. This insurance upon an actress’ life was not something that the producers were inclined to pay for. They would rather slaughter the whole entire major joke that is built into the play. (So instead, Jerry paid for some of this insurance out of his pocket, and his wife was upset. To quote her, she said, “STOP IT!”)

It was the quiet before the stupid. Producer walked in, oh, at about 11:15 as J was helping Beefy McWelderson carry an extraordinarily large piece of scenery out the back door to his truck. I myself was sitting in the green room/trash bin/costume shop/wardrobe area/wig space/prop shop/hot glue gun storage room with Ms. Parole (who was quite unhappily sewing more boobs into a bra) when Producer walked in. “How are things?” They asked. “FINE!” I exclaimed. “Anything I can get you?” They asked.

Nothing I need. A rifle? A bowie knife? POISON? A huge fatty? NONE OF THESE are anything I can get from them.

Frankly, I think we’d have all preferred phone call #45 at this point of the day instead of the personal invasion.

We escaped for a bit because internet became sparse at the apartment. We went to this awesome coffee shop that I won’t describe in detail because it might give away our location. Needless to say, we had a bit of a break. On the way back, we had to stop at multiple dollar stores, one of which was frequented by several Trannies who were kind enough to hold the door. (One even looked like Prince!). While walking through the store, I took a detour. This was due to something that had not occurred in my life, really, since I became vegetarian about 1 1⁄2 years ago. I was getting the fat farts. (I can’t eat animal fat because I can’t digest it, so when I eat fat, it upsets my tummy and I do very smelly farts.) I tried desperately to fart away from my friends, because I KNOW it smells so bad. Like a rotting carcass. Not all that far off from the Pigeon Barbeque many of you may remember from Day 3.

When we got to the car again, I announced, thinking that I was being somehow polite, that “I’m just warning you, I have to fart, it’s going to smell.” J said that was too much info. SIGH. Jerry was speechless. I just wanted to warn them…..

And then…and then. Coming out of store #2 still having bought no props, J and I went to the car while Jerry was buying Coke #52 of the day. It’s cold in this town. I have a long winter coat that happens to cover my butt. I farted about halfway to the car. I could smell the aroma coming and I was a good 15 feet from J. I thought it was minimum safe distance. After beep-beeping my car open, I got in. What I wasn’t expecting was the fart scent reservoir created by my coat shepherded it into my car. We closed the doors waiting for LD and were all but hotboxed.

Pause.

J: OH MY GOD!!!!
J opens the door (I have a 2 door.)
Jerry: What?
J: She FARTED!!! Don’t get in.
Jerry: I’m a guy! We do this.

He sits in the passenger seat and closed the door. He then starts to claw at the window. I had forgotten that the back seat windows are controlled from the front so J was leaning out the front window with Jerry like two puppies with faces pointed to the wind trying to get air.

Sigh.

To compound our pain while we were gone, the PM made some props for J that were utterly fucked up and wrong. To describe them as embarrassing would offend the word, embarrassing. J became even more depressed and despondent.

Then, Jerry got a call from Producer who was upset that he didn’t plan on writing 374 cues for this monstrosity in a day. Actually, in less than a day. Actually, it really comes down to about 15 minutes, because after Jerry and J hang electrics 2 and three themselves tomorrow, he won’t have time to actually do any other work, let alone work required of him by his contract.

The smoking section let out an audable sigh.

We did a run. It went as to be expected. On a positive note, the first thing Producer said to J was, “The set looks great!” The notes left to be done, of course, were mainly props that remain to be located. And tech in the missing soft goods that the GM forgot to order. Until yesterday. Producer also told me that the costumes looked better than the other productions. So some good was kind of coming our way…

Upon finishing costume load out, J sweetly and politely asked Phil if he wanted us to bring him back some food.

J: What do you like to eat?
Jerry (From across the room): YOUR MOM.
Phil: No I eat YOUR mom.
Jerry: That’s an ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET
(imagine, the delicate flower J, turning bright red)
J: There’s a lady present!!!
Phil: Yeah, I ate her last night, she’s running down my chin.

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. J runs off, and Phil and Jerry high five. In only that way that stagehands can finally make a gal who can hold her own want to run.

And meanwhile…Beefy McWelderson is nowhere to be found with said piece of extraordinarily large scenery. This is at about 7 PM…J was quite willing to carry it back in with him, so that we knew it would get on the truck.

Then Phil also farted.

We went out to dinner to celebrate loading out. I was particularly excited because my bins were full and I was ready to leave. My poor friends are stuck here for one more morning, and then go off to an even colder place. After said delicious dinner where we all ate wayyyyyyy too much food, we got back to the space, where most of the set was broken down and ready to be loaded onto the truck as scheduled.

Then Lo, and Behold, the MIGHTY voice of THE PM bellowed through the cold darkness of the warehouse.

“BEHOLD PEONS (at least, that is how I heard it in my head), THE TRUCK IS A MERE 7 FEET TALL. THIS DOES NOT AFFORD US ENOUGH SPACE FOR THE SCENERY. WE ARE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKED.”

For some reason, I found out first. My 12 rubbermaids of hair and clothes really aren’t affected by this problem. J finally heard it from Phil.


Convo # 3679
Phil: J, the truck’s only 7 feet tall.
J: It’s official. No one has listened to a single word I have said in the last 10 weeks. I have email to back up the fact that I said the truck must be a minumum of 8’6” tall.
Sigh.
Sigh.
Sigh.

(J wanders off into a corner.)

That brings me to this moment, the here and now, where I sit at my computer, composing the last blog from this god-awful situation. I can say, however, that there were new good friends that were made, to hopefully work with in better times, and better places, in big boy theaters, after the apocalypse eradicates the MCPA. Leaving only J, Jerry, Phil, Bob, and myself to forge ahead making art for once, instead of creating solely from the dollar store.

I look to tomorrow, when I get in my car to go back east, and they head westward, hoping that their last days with this group can only get better. But I know better. And I hope they’ll call, so that perhaps tomorrow, there will be another blog, but only through hearsay. I hope to give you, dear readers a happy ending sometime in this next week.

Yet, as I write, Beefy McWelderson with the extraordinarily large piece of scenery is nowhere to be found….

To be continued….