A Fiery Pickle
Last night for four and an half hours I held the volunteer position of __________________ (from here on out said position will be referred to as “what the bloody hell” or WTBH). The child is in a stage pr0duction, a musical of sorts. I am using as little words as possible and zer0s in order to avoid being googled. For six months a ca$t of 18o+ have been rehearsing for the big perf0rmance,— c0stumes, rented theatre, paid director and ch0reographers, trained technicians, the perf0rmance available on DVD, —the whole nine yards.
They count on volunteers for many of the jobs. Lots of volunteers. Not as many as for a college graduation ceremony, which I have a few under my belt accompanied with some good stories, but lots of people nevertheless. Can I just say while I am thinking about it how people always, ALWAYS approach me as if I know what the hell is going on. I am convinced I have a face and the body language that conveys, “Ask me, I know everything.” Because ask they do.
When the Head Volunteer in Charge (HVIC) approached me to inquire as to what positions I would volunteer for, we reviewed (more like studied in my case) the volunteer chart. The volunteer chart is a huge 3’ x3’ matrix (if you will) paper taped on a wall with lots of jobs and times and blank spaces next to them to pencil in someone’s name. Naturally, I am not the “c0ncessions” type, nor the ticket tak3r, usher, or any other those other whatevers. Back stage d00r, stage d00r right, stage d00r left, etc were all booked. Yes, I thought, obviously snatched by some veteran early bird gets the worm bastards. Only one year in the trenches (or foresight) will teach you not to volunteer the following year for say, “Girls dressing r00m.”
So I say to the HVIC, what’s this job here, the WTBH (what the bloody hell) and I swear to you, I swear she looked directly at my gut. Then when she caught herself she looked away to some neutral space and explained to me what the job entails. Well I knew her first-first thought was if I would be able to do it physically since I have a fat gut. But her look was not too judgmental because when she was staring off in vacant neutral land I could tell, or at least my self-esteem surmised that she was recounting all of my past work. With, an “okay I guess you will do because it is not like we have anyone else” she penciled my name in the opening spots. So for five days straight for four and an half hours I will be one of four WTBHs. The closest I can describe my position to you is, you know how there is this person (usually a man) who appears and reappears out of nowhere and announces through the door of the star’s dressing room, “FIVE MINUTES!” That’s who I am. The rest is a secret.
I can say the time goes by real fast.
And yes, many people came to me as I was scurrying along. At one time, even one of the very important people asked me something that I would expect the answer would come from her.
When I got home last night, my legs were on fire. On fire I tell you. It was as if I had twelve heating pads on full blast wrapped around every inch of my legs. I took an Advil and went to sleep. Now I have four days left.