The Wrong Man

So, my second day here I'm attending the huge company meeting, held in the Bomer Theater. And the company here of actors, admins, and technicians is so large that they easily stretch across the audience seats in the Bowmer. I'm sitting way up in the top half of the theater, looking down on this sea of people who know each other and know what they're doing and are greeting each other, and I start to feel very insecure. I start to feel nervous. I start to feel panicky. I start to feel very, very exposed and very, very fat. There are these lovely dark, shadowy corners at the top of the house where I could've sat, but no! I had to sit here, surrounded by everybody. Here are all these legitimate theatre professionals, and who am I, this outsider who's snuck under the wire! I had this distinct feeling that I didn't belong followed by this intense desire to sneak out, crawl back into my car and come home. Seriously, I was calculating whether I had enough money left to afford the trip back and what I would tell the department.

So, they're about to start the whole business of introducing everybody, when Libby Appel, the head of the whole She-bang gets up and starts by saying that before they do the general intros, she wanted to introduce a very special guest. And you know, I have one of those moments, right? You know, one of those irrational fear moments that she's going to call on me. And I'm struck with a moment of terror as Libby goes on.

She talks about this Pell-Penn Fellowship-Thing that I had never heard of before that has been going on for a number of years that has allowed them to bring a promising young director, who is out in the world and has some professional experience to come and be an assistant director on two shows. [Readers of this blog should know three things: that I am not here on some Pell-Penn Fellowship-Thingy-Whatever; I'm not a promising your director who is out in the world and has some professional experience; I'm not the only assistant director with the Festival right now.] She goes on to talk about this dude's credentials and how he's just landed a job with Disney Corporation being responsible for the touring company of The Lion King. She then mentions how fortuate they are to have one of the previous Pell-Penn-Whatsis dudes there this season to direct a show. So they can have a previous Fellowship person welcome the present Fellowship person. She calls up Bill Fennely, the other assistant director, who has been sitting in the first row with the theatre top brass. And he's smiling, and he's young, and he's thin, and he's gorgeous. He's got a little leather jacket on and a scarf that's rakishly thrown around his neck. Goddamnit, he even looks like a director. I'm not sure I know what a director looks like, but if a director looks like something, he did. Bill stands up there with Libby and the other Former Fellowship guy, and people are applauding, and Bill's waving, and (I kid you not) they give him a plaque! And then they show the plaque that usually hangs in the lobby that lists all the past winners, to which Bill's name will be added.

And I feel miserable. I mean it. This was supposed to be my peer? This was the other assistant director? This is what they're used to here? What the Hell has Bob gotten me into here? I was sure right then that I was either a mistake that had happened, was happening, or was going to happen. I just kept repeating over and over, "I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked. I'm so fucked." What in the Hell was I doing here? What in the Hell made me think that it would work for me to be here? All I wanted to do was slink back to my apartment before anyone noticed me and regroup ... maybe repack.

At that moment, Christine (the intern coordinator person), whom I had never met, whom I did not know about, who was sitting a row in front of me and a few seats over calls out, "Libby! Don't you think we should introduce Clinton too?"

"Oh yes," says Libby. "We're also very pleased to have with us ... this other guy." If I had had a cyanide capsule ...

And even though I've written about how great this place is (It is) and how wonderful the people are (They are), I've never fully gotten away from that, "When are they going to realize that I'm not good enough?" feeling. And just when I started to settle in kind of, tonight was the first rehearsal for By the Waters of Babylon, an original play written by award-winning playwright Robert Shenken, specifically for two members of the company, directed by Bill Rausch, who's the head of Cornerstone Theatre in L.A. (I think). And Bill Rausch is there, and Robert Shenken is there, and here I am once again, walking into a room of people who know each other and have been talking about this play for months, some of them. What the hell am I doing here? A few months from now, I'll probably be right back where I started, looking for temp work with little or no marketable skills in Charlottesville. I'm already 35. When am I going to stop kidding myself that I'll be able to make anything of my life?

I'll sit in Bob's office, and he'll tell me that I have all this opportunity ahead of me. And I want to trust him, but to me this all feels like too little, too late.