Spring Season at the Eisenhower

This Saturday marks my first day back at the theatre for our spring season. After a month away, I've missed it terribly. I've had this job for two years now, and love it so much more now than I ever have. I'm quite excited to be involved once again. This momentous occasion has prompted me to think about all the wonderful times I've shared with my fellow crewmen in the dark backstage area.

On a cold morning in late October, we were unloading a truck stuffed from top to bottom with the usual assortment of production stuffs. Road boxes had shifted and settled during the trip, and a layer of cases was completely jammed. A crewman from the tour was getting frustrated. He climbed up over the jam to try pushing from behind. There was a small space behind the stuck case, but when he went to drop down, his pants were caught on a rail holding some pipes. The entire backside of his right cheek area was ripped completely off his pants. Somehow, his boxers were entangled in the mess and quite a bit was taken with his pants. He stood there with his bum entirely exposed to most of his and our crew. After an awkward second, he turned around and shouted, "No stopping. I'll change later." He pushed mightily on the roadbox and freed it. True to his word, he didn't stop to change his pants until after the truck was unloaded and empty.

We had an easy light hand somewhere in September. We finished very early, but there were a few huge boxes setting out on the loading dock. A shipment of new chairs had arrived, and my supervisors took the opportunity to have us unpack and assemble them. They came with the legs already attached but the backs were separate. For some reason, bubble wrap had been taped over the seat before the legs had been screwed on, pinning tape between the seat and leg assembly. My special job was to peel the tape off the chairs, including what was under the leg area. It was difficult and slow, so Gary came to my rescue. He started mumbling something about the manufacturer having some Freudian issues. Frustrated at the slow progress, he suddenly burst, "This guy must have really hated his mother!"

The season was winding up, it was November, everyone was feeling frayed after a difficult load in. I was at the very back of the audience area, hooking up sound equipment at the mix site. I looked up to see Tom, with a very thick rope draped around his neck, tossing the free end up in the air and yelling in frustration when it missed his mark. A lineset (backdrop) pipe was above him, 20 feet in the air, but his rope was no more than ten feet long. "You can't get out that easy," shouted the sound guy. "Stop trying to hang yourself and get back to work." Tom, in his comedic way looked dejected and turned to walk offstage. A few minutes later, I watched him tie the free end of the rope to the handle of a roadcase on the front of the stage. Everyone was watching. He took a dramatic leap off the edge, landing three feet below on solid ground. "There's no escape," he yelled and trudged off back to work once again.

As long as I've worked at the theatre, Marty has always kept a very thick gruff beard. Two years, and it would vary between semi-trimmed and downright bushy. A few days into November, we were given the daunting task of setting up the sound shell for a musical performance. I figured it was the usual people at work that day, but noticed a stranger in the crowd. A big guy, with slick black hair and a round face. I stared and stared, but it wasn't until he started talking that I realized Marty had a clean shaven face and fresh haircut. It wasn't the mountain man I was used to seeing. He had been Clarke Kent for Halloween and shaved completely for the first time in years.

I'll get this out of the way. I'm used to seeing people in all forms of nakedness at my job. Being one of the few trusted females, I'll always be working wardrobe and costuming during shows. I help people change in and out of costumes. I'm used to it, they're used to it. One day, I was in the unusual position of assisting with the men's costumes. Normally dancers will wear leotards under their costumes, but no Ukranians. I was finishing hours worth of ironing when the performers started shuffling in and getting ready. One minute, everyone was pulling their outfits off the rack, and the next I looked up to see an entire room full of men wearing only the most revealing of speedoes. I immediately dropped my head and turned my ironing board to face the wall. It didn't help, because the one thing I learned about Ukranians that day was their utter lack of shame. The men stayed in their costumes only as long as necessary, and lounged around backstage in their skimpies. Even after the performance ended and our crew started cleaning up, the men were sitting around in no particular hurry to get dressed. Sensing that I had no comfortable place to put my eyes, Gary banished me to a corner of the room "for being such a perv." I was only glad to accept.

I'm looking forward to many more early mornings, late nights, long hours, frustration, venting, and all the good times that come with spending way too much time around the same people. Here goes nothing.