Community Theater Disaster Fest 2002

This post is inspired by a recent chat I had with a friend of mine on the ups and downs of community theater.

Let's start generally. The pros of community theater: people who are really committed to artistic expression for little or no money, opportunities for all, building "community" within your community. Cons: it can be extremely political and unfair (see previous post, Waste of a Headshot).

Allow me to set the scene. I was sixteen, loved singing, and was obsessed with The Rocky Horror Picture Show. A theater 30 minutes from my house was planning a production for October (close to Halloween) and I was DEAD SET to audition for the role of Janet Weiss. For whatever reason, my mom was totally okay with me singing "Touch-A Touch-A Touch-A Touch Me" in my underwear in front of an audience, but not okay with me getting a ride home from a boy. But we're not focusing on that right now. Just accept these weird facts.

My mom thought it would fair best for me to do a show with the theater before doing Rocky Horror. Then, I wouldn't be completely unknown in the microcosm of this theater. Technically, this was sound advice.

The bizarre thing about this particular theater is that anyone, ANYONE, could put on a show as director and cast whomever they wanted. So, every show was done by someone different. I did not realize that as I MOST UNFORTUNATELY went through the audition process for "The Will Rogers Follies."

I was cast in a chorus role in the show. That was fine with me - I just wanted some experience. I show up on the first day to find that the DIRECTOR, a 50+ year old woman, had cast HERSELF as the 20 something year old ingenue lead. I thought that this was a little odd. In order to make up for the fact that she was at least THIRTY years too old to play the role, she only cast people as old or older than her in every other lead. Will Rogers, a young 20 something character, was played by a 60 year old man. His father was played by a man who was probably 65. The ingenue's best girlfriends, who are supposed to be young lithe dancers, were played by 50 year old women (and me...).

Before rehearsal began, I gave her the benefit of a doubt. Maybe she was a really excellent singer/dancer and just really liked this show.

NO FRIENDS. NO. SHE WAS NOT. This woman could not even PRETEND to sing any of the notes in any of the songs. She half-spoke, half-meowed (more like a dying cat meow) her way through the production.

On top of her awful "singing" and lack of choreography, she insisted on seven, SEVEN, costume changes for the chorus members. And we had to supply our own costumes. The list included TWO BALLGOWNS, one which had to be "gem-colored", a cow costume, and a pink costume that was essentially fashioned from shower loofahs.

Let me allow your brain to catch up with this madness. BALLGOWNS. And a COW costume. And a loofah-inspired tutu-esque ensemble. In one show.

I endured six weeks of pointless rehearsals, in which no one knew what they were doing and the direction was haphazard and lazy. I sat through musical rehearsals listening to older non-musicians try to learn four part harmonies. I watched as these theater enthusiasts with little experience tried to figure out how to tap-dance (dressed as cows). And the entire time, the director called me the wrong name. Though I corrected her once each day, she continued to ignore it. I believe that she was irritated that I was a) young, b) talented, and c) that all of her friends (who were cast in lead roles) told me that I should be playing her part.

My moment of zen was opening night. It took place in a very small theater, where you can see the audience and are standing only a few feet away from the first row of seats. The show only drew a very limited crowd of the regular theater goers, friends of the cast, and friends of the "director"/"lead." During the first number, I heard an elderly woman "whisper" to her husband that this was the worst shit she had ever seen. At intermission, more than half of the audience left, refusing to sit through any more tortuous "singing" and "dancing" and "acting."

At the end of this awful experience, which I often allow myself to forget, I was cast as the cover for Janet Weiss in The Rocky Horror Show. The director was not in any way affiliated with this other "director" and took pity on me for participating in her version of "art."

What still pisses me off is that after my first performance in Rocky Horror, my former "director" came up to me and said, "Well, you know that the only reason you were cast is because of me."

In moments like that, all you can do is smile and let the other person try to feel better about themselves. I didn't say a word.

Bad CARma

Dear Friends,

I urge you not to promote bad CARma. Ha, get it? Play on words. Karma. Right. What do I mean by bad CARma?

Don't honk at people excessively. A friendly little *beep* so they stop texting and look up to realize that the light is green is acceptable.

Don't cut people off. (Possible accident?)

Don't ride someone's rear bumper. (Another possible accident, and possibly out of spite from the driver in front of you.) Today I watched someone lay on their horn for a full minute and half because the person in front of them applied their brakes, which is their right as a driver, yes? It only made the person in front of them respond spitefully by going slower and continuing to apply his brakes. Ideally, if you're the angry horn-pounding driver, you should just go around this person (it was a 2 lane highway). Ideally, if you're the brake-applying spiteful driver angering the car behind you, you should move over and out of the fast lane. But we do not live in an ideal world.

Don't be an angry, aggressive driver. The roads are not safe as it is. There is no need for you to take your anger out on your fellow driving citizens.

Yield to pedestrians - when it's their turn or when in a crosswalk. I must tell you that a LOT of pedestrians don't even realize that they are crossing when they don't actually have the right of way. IF THE HAND IS UP, DON'T WALK! I almost ran over a child on a scooter today because her mom was like, "IT'S SAFE TO CROSS EVEN THOUGH THE HAND IS UP!" Not good.

Let crazy angry people pass you so you don't have to deal with any of the above situations.

Let people who are trying to parallel park take their time. Parallel parking is stressful enough without someone zooming around you and not giving you the space to do it, or someone honking at you to hurry up. It only takes 15 seconds and you cannot be in THAT much of a hurry. And if you are, you better have a wife in labor or a bleeding friend, otherwise it's your own fault and you should leave for wherever you need to be earlier.

The better CARma you put out there, the better CARma you get back. Pay it forward. Maybe the world will be better. Take your time. Put down your phone. You don't need to text "Haha" or "Ya" or "Ok" while you're driving. You really don't need to do it. Look up. Drive both defensively and assertively. Avoid an accident. Avoid hitting a pedestrian or animal or object. Avoid getting pulled over (and not by driving faster than the cops). Driving is a privilege, and a dangerous privilege that requires your full attention and courteous conduct.

I am guilty of many of the above - and I'm sure you are too. We are not perfect beings. Just try to be more aware.

Respectfully,

A fellow driver

Waiting: The Worst Day

Today...was the worst day.

Sort of. I guess in the grand scheme of things what I'm about to recount is really not that terrible. I'm alive! I'm relatively healthy! I'm drinking a latte in a coffee shop (yes - I am one of THOSE people, on their computers blogging in a freaking coffee shop. But you know what - I've realized that THOSE people probably also do not have the internet at home.)! So today is only the worst day because I've had a lot of really good days.

THAT BEING SAID.

Today was the worst day at work. My waitressing job. (Apparently "waitressing" is not a word. If my computer had its way, the word would be distressing, hairdressing, depressing, or prepossessing. Most of which is not good and works well as a synonym for my particular situation and day.) It started out fine - I did a lot of prep work, got along with my boss and fellow servers, chatted with the hostess, and felt good about life.

Cue 20 tables all sitting down at the same time and ordering at the same time.

For those of you unfamiliar with restaurants, this means that everything gets backed up in the kitchen. A 10 minute "ticket" (yeah, that's what we call your order) can take more like 20 minutes. Well, my 15 minute ticket took 35 minutes.

This did not make the already unfriendly family of four any friendlier. First, the mother quizzed me on what types of bottled water we have (we only have the water WE personally bottle, and I bottled some of it that morning, thank you very much) and that's IT. No, we don't have a secret stash of Pellegrino or Aquafina or Evian hidden in a cooler somewhere. Asking me more than once will not change my answer or unlock some secret portal to the private water stash. It simply won't. AND YOU BROUGHT YOUR OWN BOTTLED WATER INTO THE RESTAURANT. Question Mark. Exclamation POINT.

Needless to say, she was not interested in our hand-bottled, energy-conserving, carbon-footprint-reducing water. "I'll have a ginger ale no ice THANKS." Ok. You got it.

I checked in with the table after the normal amount of time you must wait for an order. About 12 minutes. I asked how everything was, I offered to refill drinks, I assured them their food would be out shortly.

SHORTLY WAS INCORRECT. IT WAS LONGLY.

I checked with the kitchen. I saw my ticket, I saw my food. For some inexplicable reason, and desensitized to my many check backs and frantic pleading with the chef, the ticket still took THIRTY FIVE MINUTES for two orders of pasta, an order of calamari, and a BURGER. It's not like they ordered a double-stacked filet mignon cooked medium well without burning the outside. It was a very regular, very simple, order.

FINALLY the food was delivered, followed by my third round of profuse apologies. They were not pleased.

I informed my manager of the situation. He offered to buy them dessert. I relayed said message.

Let me just state that normally, NORMALLY, when a restaurant offers to buy your dessert, it's one order of dessert. Two max.

This family MILKED ME DRY in the free dessert department. They got cheesecake, a blueberry tart, a sundae, a double espresso (pronounced expresso...?) and a coffee. All in all, that's about $25 worth of free food and beverage.

One would think they would be grateful for my feeble attempt to correct this annoying mistake. One would think, hm, I just saved $25 on free food, this waitress really helped us out, I should tip her at least 20%.

ONE WOULD THINK.

They tipped me 12% and walked out with their designer bags and sunglasses, leaving a sad girl wearing pants from Target in their mist.

As if that wasn't humiliating enough for one day, the table NEXT to them got into a verbal altercation with me over onion rings.

Let me repeat that.

A VERBAL ALTERCATION OVER ONION RINGS.

The situation: They ordered. They were waited on and taken care of. Their meal took a normal amount of time. The "gentleman" at the table ordered a vegetable sandwich that comes with onion rings. He said, "I would also like a side salad with that. And the onion rings."

Ok, you got it.

I rang in the order, and using the KEYBOARD feature (so exciting and glamorous) I typed, "ADD SD SAL ALSO ORINGS." For those of you non-servers, that means add a side salad, keep the onion rings. But you're smart and figured that out.

Apparently, this was not clear in the kitchen.

So, his meal came out with the salad, without the onion rings. I went back to get said onion rings, and the chef told me to ring them in separately. Ok - no problem, that's acceptable. However, they intended to charge him $5 for onion rings that came with his sandwich in the first place. I have a mild problem with that, but I kept my mouth shut.

CUE ME, 10 MINUTES LATER, DESPERATELY SEEKING SIDE O-RINGS.

I came out, I apologized, I said they would be ready soon. The man yelled,

"WELL THIS IS RIDICULOUS. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FOR ONION RINGS? I ORDERED THEM."

Me - "Yes sir, I completely agree with you. I'm very sorry for this delay and I'm trying to get them for you, there's just a lot going on in the kitchen."

Angry, Onion-less Man - "Well, I know it's not YOUR fault but I mean COME ON."

Me - "Yes, I understand, I will be right back."

FINALLY I RECEIVE THE ONION RINGS, after they handed me a plate with two onion rings and I said, "We're charging him $5 for 2 onion rings? And he's already pissed off? I don't think so."

I deliver the onion rings. I go into the bathroom, intending to cry, and look at myself in the mirror and say,

"ONION RINGS ARE NOT WORTH YOUR TEARS. NOT TODAY!" Not any day, really. Unless you got an onion ring to the eyeball. Maybe then.

After all of that painful and awkward servitude, I only made $30.

I decided to go to the gym. I would walk, because that's healthy and it was a beautiful day. As soon as I stepped outside, it began to lightly rain. No worries, I had an umbrella. Halfway there, it began to pour and thunder and lightning. 3/4 of the way there, my shoes and socks were soaking wet and I was seriously questioning my decision.

It was a disappointing workout, with my feet submerged in water.

Today may have been The Worst Day, but that means that tomorrow things will turn around!

What's your worst day story?

A Pattern Emerges

I’ve realized something lately. Everything I choose to do with my life is judgment-based.

Singing – an intangible way to be judged. One person may like one particular sound; another may think you sound like a dying rhinoceros. (And yeah, I spelled that correctly on the first try.) You may be too tall for someone; too short for another. You may be TOO pretty or not pretty enough. You may be too fat or too thin in the same audition room. Your dress is hideous or it’s lovely and distracting. Your shoes are insensible or just plain ugly. The way you wore your hair that day. Your makeup. Your headshot. The lighting in your headshot. The layout of your resume. One of the people you’ve worked with is one of the auditioners biggest enemies or greatest friends. You’re the third person in a row to sing that aria. They don’t know your aria. They hate your aria. The timing of your audition: they want to take a break. They want to eat lunch. They’re thinking about a turkey sandwich instead of listening to you. They just ate lunch. They’re full. They ate too much of their turkey sandwich. They shouldn’t have had that cookie. They really need to pee. They have to fart but that would be rude. They’re thirsty. Their lips are chapped and your cadenza is keeping them from bliss. They know their cell phone is going off for the third time, silently, in their bag and they’re in the middle of a huge fight with their significant other/child. It could be literally ANYTHING.

Waitressing – another intangible form of judgment, except instead of being cast in something you’re given money. I don’t know about you other servers out there, but I feel like I have failed if I don’t get 20% or more as a tip. There are some people who just simply WILL NOT tip you 20%. You could be the best goddamn server they’ve ever had and entertain their child while they eat or do acrobatic entertainment for their enjoyment, and they will still only tip you 15 or 18%. You could falter in suggesting an entrée. You could suggest something they end up not liking. You don’t know what part of the Atlantic the fish of the day is indigenous to. You have trouble describing the taste of fontina cheese. The kitchen could be jammed. The food could take too long. The food runner could spill something. They could spill something. They may have to wait longer than 20 seconds to be sat at a table. It’s still YOUR FAULT, the server. Even if you can’t control how many other people are ordering the exact same thing at the exact same time and causing a backup to happen in the kitchen. Even if greeting and seating isn’t your responsibility. Even if the busser knocks over a water glass. Even if you can’t control the fact that you look like their ex-girlfriend or boyfriend who stomped on their heart in college. YOUR. FAULT. Minus 1%. Minus another 1% for every extra minute it takes you to get their credit card receipt to them, even if their card won’t swipe and you have to find a manager during the dinner rush to void the payment and then re-ring it all in, “Don’t Make”. Minus another 1% for the amount of time it takes you to PERSONALLY SERVE their Sangria. You have to open the bottle at the table and mix it in with the juice and then pour it in a way that each person gets some fruit in their glass and you need to do it in 30 seconds or less so they may continue their conversation without you listening in. YOUR FAULT.

How did this happen? Mom, I blame you. I blame you because I need approval and I need a grade and I need assessment. I blame you because you told me that waitressing was in my blood. It’s not in my brother’s blood but somehow it’s in mine. I blame you for raising me to be someone who can stand up to criticism and take what I want and leave the bullshit behind. I blame you for raising me to work my ass off at everything I do. I blame you for teaching me how money can come and go like rain. I blame you for teaching me to rise above it all and still be a human being.

So…thank you.

Waste of a Headshot

I recently did a really great audition. I sang well, I felt comfortable, and the kid in the hallway said, “I really shouldn’t say this – but that was lovely!”

Basically, I felt really good about the whole thing.

Then, oh my stars, I was called a few days later and invited to do a callback audition. HOW EXCITING! The director complimented me over the phone. I said, “Should I bring anything specific?” Meaning…do I need dance shoes and clothes because I suck at dancing. He said, “Just your beautiful voice!” Well, okay then. No problemo el Capitano!

I get to the callback and see two girls I know from school, and about five other girls I’ve never seen before. The room is weirdly silent. Legs are bouncing up and down underneath desks. People nonchalantly look over their resumes and headshots. Some sip as quietly as possible at their Starbucks grande teas.

I sit down, I say hello to my friends, and wait. In silence.

Finally, the whole humiliating process begins. We’re given music from the show in question and told that we’ll each sing each part. The music is for characters that I would never sing. A mezzo part and an older soprano part. Essentially – not what I signed up for. Immediately, I begin to question the whole callback situation. Why were we looking at this other music? I knew the two girls from my school would sing the same role as me, and I felt compelled to guess that most of the other girls were interested in that same part.

My thought: They’ve already cast the part I auditioned for. Why am I here?

Minutes later, a girl about my age and height strolls in like she owns the place. She greets the music director, director, and stage manager. She looks at the set designs. She talks over our singing. Then, the music director tells her that she will be reading lines with the men in the other room.

Hm. I’m pretty sure she’s not a man. Why would she be reading lines with them? Why is she dressed so casually, and why is she so comfortable being this late to a callback? And why does she know everyone already?

At this point in the callback, it became clear. I was not auditioning for what I had signed up for.

Now, I was angry. They were making me sing something that I wouldn’t do onstage, even if offered. They had me up against two people I felt were equal competition (the ones I knew) and five girls who had no business singing in public, ever. Next, they narrowed down the group to only the high sopranos, and gave us the music for the role I originally sang for. My hopes lifted. Perhaps that other girl, the one without any inhibition or tact, was merely a lighting designer. Or perhaps the dance captain.

I sang through the part, it was great. My friends were also great. The other girls were bad. Ok, I said it. They were not good. They sounded untrained. One was much older than the rest of us, and I wondered why they were having her sing for a role of a sixteen year old girl? Not only was she older, but her voice was weak and fatigued. She couldn’t hit any of the notes. Why were they wasting their time like this?

I’LL TELL YOU WHY. They were wasting their time on ALL of us, because they had no intention of giving any of us a role. Except perhaps someone they already knew.

My fears were confirmed the next day, when I got a call from the director. He left me a voicemail, saying,

“Hello. This is Schmucky Face McBigShot calling you about this show you auditioned for. Please call me back.”

I called him back, and unfortunately allowed my spirits to lift. Perhaps I was wrong yet again. Maybe he was offering me the role!

No, he was not.

What he offered me was, “…one of the sisters, not either of the named characters.” Translation: chorus. Background. Nothing.

Now, there is nothing wrong with singing in the chorus of any show. And maybe I’m stuck up for saying this, but I have a FREAKING MASTERS DEGREE in voice and I do not need to sing in the chorus of some community theater production bent on casting the same five people with no experience every time in roles they have no business performing.

I calmly thanked him for his consideration, but stated that I could not give up that much of my time for this particular production and role.

He had the audacity to say, “You know, I really wanted you in this production and you are really good. We just went in another direction.”

No – you didn’t go in another direction. You were only ever GOING in ONE direction, so to insult me by saying that you considered me at all and that I lost out to someone with no professional degree just pisses me off. YOU CAN TAKE YOUR WORDS AND YOUR FALSE PRAISE AND HIT THE ROAD, JACK.

You’ve caused me to waste TWO of my free evenings of the week. And honestly, one of them wasn’t even free. I had to cancel lessons I was teaching as well as cancel one of my OWN lessons to drive 25 minutes for a two hour callback for people who had no intention of casting me. FROM THE START. And I’m not about to give up three to four evenings a week to listen to someone squeak out notes and act poorly and generally cause me to fill with hatred-bile (yes, hatred-bile) until I explode into a million tiny pieces all over your “stage” and then give up on music completely. I have LOANS to pay. I need to WORK. I do NOT need to be taken advantage of and overlooked. THANKS BUT NO THANKS.

So, basically, I’m too good for community theater and I’m not good enough for actual programs and productions, but I won’t get cast in either type?

Lesson. Learned.