February 11, 2001
Tulmultuous Day: Part One
Set building is always an experience. As someone who is far from a builder, I wander aimlessly until some menial task is pushed on me. Last Saturday was no different.
Ryan and his too-much-eye-make-up (but I love her anyway) sister picked me up at eleven in the morning and Ryan drove sixty-five miles and hour down my thirty-five mile an hour street all the way to Taylor. He always drives sixty-five. I don't want to think about him on the highway.
"Building" was already underway when we arrived; which translates as ten or so cast/crew members standing around one person with a saw, the directors and a couple burly fathers poring over the blueprints; and six or so girls giggling in the pit with their hair and make-up entirely too perfect for this ungodly hour.
I stood around with my metaphorical thumb up my ass trying to look productive, observing drill-girl and saw-boy with more fascination on my face than ever I could muster.
But then Mallory brought the party with her, just like she always does. So we stood around trying to look productive together. I rated her Beatle-esque boyfriend Tom (I gave him a seven) and extolled to her mine and too-much-eye-make-up sister's encounter with a drill a few moments earlier.
After accosting the directors three or four times for jobs to no avail, Ms. Pulskamp finally told us we could carry some things up to the costume closet. Our readiness to work stumbles me. There is just something about the costume closet, some strange allure that draws flaky, artistic individuals like Mal and myself to its obscure, musty heights.
There was but one problem. The flourescent lights in the closet had burnt out, and we were without flashlights. So we connived Colleen (semi-builder) to drive us to Mal's house on a tap light excursion. We also got my cheap Taylor flashlight/ lantern from my house.
So there we were, with four tap lights and a lantern and the visibility in the room had increased from pitch black to virtually-less-than-dim. There is no alternative when even the tap lights have failed. We must have a new flourescent bulb.
Mrs. Strasser informs us that they are probably about twenty dollars. Mallory (impoverished) gasps. I (slightly less impoverished) ask: "Can't we get one from the custodian or something?"
Mrs. Strasser: "No one is here today; I'll ask them about it on Monday."
Defeated, Mal and I walk away. She beacons me into the wings with a severe look and a hand gesture, and in a somewhat James Bond-ish tone says: "I have a plan."
We ventured into the hall and there it loomed, the portal through which we never would've dared had we not been under such pressured circumstances: the door to the basement/bomb shelter, the threshold to the twisted, mysterious corridors of janitor-dom. Dare we? Oh, yes.
Upon opening the door, we saw a sign directly opposite which read "Students not permitted in this area." We ignored it, naturally. We descended the concrete slope into the dark bowels of Taylor High. After fumbling a moment for a light switch, the basement was illuminated. And what glory did we behold? Well, just a washing machine. But just to the right of that were boxes and boxes of flourescent bulbs. Mal and I literally shrieked in glee. We stole two, just in case we accidently broke one on our way back.
"We'll have to write them a nice note." I said to her once we had smuggled them safely into the closet and tore Ryan away to hook them up.
"Hell, yes. " She agreed, and we got to work.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next three hours were ones of retro bliss. Mal, Brittany, Shelly, Katie and I waded through piles of moo-moos, wigs, and old man pants. Mal and I made a sharing pile, from which we could pilfer anything for our personal use (you would be amazed at how much cool clothing we have stolen). We had naked time (where Shelly, Katie and I changed our shirts and Ryan felt slighted when we excluded him), and I found a pair of shoes I had lost two years ago when we did 'A Christmas Carol.' That place looks damn good thanks to us, not only can you see the floor but we also laid down some decorative rugs.
Brittany, Katie and I swept after that. We attacked the virtual piles of sawdust, singing along to the 'Grease' sound track and dancing with our brooms.
Ryan and I dipped out of set building about three-thirty. What follows deserves a chapter all to itself.
astera at five minutes ago