I have always been jealous of Chris' job. Not so much the plugging things in and making things work part as the going out and listening to live music part. Every time I try to justify a night out with the girls and cite all the nights he's been out listening to music, he pulls the "I am a sound engineer and they are paying me" card. And then I'm supposed to feel all bad for him because all he does is work work work and he never has any fun and boo hoo for Chris.
I don't know why it took me so long to figure this out, but I finally wised up and got a job at a theater. As part of my job, I have to go see live theater at least a couple times a month. I am a genius.
Last night I went to my first job-related performance. When I asked the production manager if I could come, he said "yes. But for marketing purposes only. You're not allowed to enjoy yourself."* I assured him I was only coming because of my deep commitment to my job. It had nothing to do with my deep commitment to getting out of the house and mingling with like-minded adults.
I don't get out much, so the "what to wear" question was an issue. What are arty, theater types wearing these days? I settled on a long, black dress that doesn't fit me very well in the first place and is constructed poorly in the second place so I have to pretend it's strapless because by the end of the evening it has scooted around to the point of being essentially strapless. I remedy both issues by wearing a rubberized condensing tube, which extends from my knees to my armpits.
Question: When you wear a rubberized condensing tube, where does the rest of you go? Do you get taller?
Since I live in a community where people try not to look like they dressed up on purpose, I had to dress down with a pair of riding boots. I have these Frye boots I found in a consignment shop on Newbury Street years ago - which I've realized were in the consignment shop because they are steel belted and you feel like Cinderella's sister getting into them.
Between the tube and the boots, it took me about 45 minutes to get dressed, leaving me a little sweaty and out of breath.
I arrived at the theater unable to breath comfortably and with the sneaking suspicion that my boots were giving me muffin tops. There were a few people in the box office, who I let clear out before asking my coworker where the VIP employee seating was. She invited me to come around to her side of the ticket window, at which point I noticed she had a baby goat sleeping in a banana box behind her desk.
Apparently I work for the little theater that Kafka built.
Let me here state that this is not a Waiting for Guffman type theater (not that there's anything wrong with that). Last year they did things like The Blue Room by David Hare, The Bald Soprano by Eugene Ionesco and Speech and Debate by Stephen Karam. They do exactly the kind of theater I want to go see. And they have a company goat.
Take that, Chris. It's work.
*I am their marketing director. This potentially puts my blog into the murky area of posts for pay whenever I write about things that happen at work. I have resolved this by writing posts of no value whatsoever.