Holiday Broken, Part Three
Countdown to Playmageddon. Three days.
Monday is a day of calls.
I call a co-worker. Can we shift shifts so that she closes the next few Fridays? Will she do this so that I can get out in just enough time to make the show? Yes, she can. Yes, she will. The theater in DC calls me. The stage manager for my friend's show has called them. The rehearsal for the reading in DC is in the evening. I can do the Sunday matinee, jump in the car, drive up to DC, and make the rehearsal for the reading. I pay a call on some local thrift shops and find, hope against hope, that someone who has just lost a bunch of weight has left a pair of jeans that I can wear. This means I would have some semblance of a costume and would not be draped in black felt (the poor man's choir robe) like last year. Oh, the glamor of the theatre.
Tuesday I walk into rehearsal.
They're looking me over in my makeshift famer/preacher costume (jeans, my black sweater jacket, a shirt I've bought that might look like flannel under the lights). They're looking for a scarf and a hat. They're looking at the lights. They're looking for whatever kid is supposed to be onstage right then. I'm looking for Ira.
I share updates with my friend. With the last remaining schedule conflicts out of the way, it seems I'm in the clear. Whoopee.
"So you can do both shows on Saturday?"
"Both shows? What do you mean, 'Both shows'?"
It turns out, to keep up with the demand generated from last year's run, they've added a Saturday matinee.
No, seriously. This all happened. I'm not making any of this up.
So -- and you'll just love this -- this is the plan we come up with ...
On Saturday, I'll go to the wine shop and work. At some point in the afternoon, I'll leave, drive 35 minutes down to Nelson County and the theater, jump out of the car, jump in my costume, jump onstage, do my scene, jump off stage and out of costume, jump back in the car, drive 35 minutes back to C'Ville and the wine shop, work the rest of the shift, jump back in the car, drive 35 minutes down again, and then again with the car jumping and the costume jumping and the scene, leave stage, wait around twenty minutes for the end of the play, do the Curtain Call, get out of costume, and go home.
To make it all even sweeter, the second weekend would have me doing all that, Plus the next day, doing the scene, jumping out of costume, jumping in the car, and driving up to DC for the rehearsal of the reading.
And now, I'm really looking for Ira.
But, my friends, there is no Ira to be found ... just a cast of people going up in two days faced with either cutting a scene they like and think is important ... or me.
You know what I did.
Monday is a day of calls.
I call a co-worker. Can we shift shifts so that she closes the next few Fridays? Will she do this so that I can get out in just enough time to make the show? Yes, she can. Yes, she will. The theater in DC calls me. The stage manager for my friend's show has called them. The rehearsal for the reading in DC is in the evening. I can do the Sunday matinee, jump in the car, drive up to DC, and make the rehearsal for the reading. I pay a call on some local thrift shops and find, hope against hope, that someone who has just lost a bunch of weight has left a pair of jeans that I can wear. This means I would have some semblance of a costume and would not be draped in black felt (the poor man's choir robe) like last year. Oh, the glamor of the theatre.
Tuesday I walk into rehearsal.
They're looking me over in my makeshift famer/preacher costume (jeans, my black sweater jacket, a shirt I've bought that might look like flannel under the lights). They're looking for a scarf and a hat. They're looking at the lights. They're looking for whatever kid is supposed to be onstage right then. I'm looking for Ira.
I share updates with my friend. With the last remaining schedule conflicts out of the way, it seems I'm in the clear. Whoopee.
"So you can do both shows on Saturday?"
"Both shows? What do you mean, 'Both shows'?"
It turns out, to keep up with the demand generated from last year's run, they've added a Saturday matinee.
No, seriously. This all happened. I'm not making any of this up.
So -- and you'll just love this -- this is the plan we come up with ...
On Saturday, I'll go to the wine shop and work. At some point in the afternoon, I'll leave, drive 35 minutes down to Nelson County and the theater, jump out of the car, jump in my costume, jump onstage, do my scene, jump off stage and out of costume, jump back in the car, drive 35 minutes back to C'Ville and the wine shop, work the rest of the shift, jump back in the car, drive 35 minutes down again, and then again with the car jumping and the costume jumping and the scene, leave stage, wait around twenty minutes for the end of the play, do the Curtain Call, get out of costume, and go home.
To make it all even sweeter, the second weekend would have me doing all that, Plus the next day, doing the scene, jumping out of costume, jumping in the car, and driving up to DC for the rehearsal of the reading.
And now, I'm really looking for Ira.
But, my friends, there is no Ira to be found ... just a cast of people going up in two days faced with either cutting a scene they like and think is important ... or me.
You know what I did.
posted by - caj at 11:33 PM
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