Line upon Line

I received a call from a theatre group asking if I would volunteer my time to run the lights for their summer musical. My life was incredibly busy, but I knew it would save them a lot of money, so I agreed. Besides, I would only have to be there for three weeks: one practice week before production, and two for the performances. However, I knew those weeks would be long.

The day before the first practice in the venue, I took a copy of the script and set the lights for each scene, including color changes and everything. Then, the hour before practice that evening, the assistant director (AD), who had been placed in charge of lighting, came to go through them with me and suggested a few changes.

We had practices that week, and everything looked good. However, during our first dress rehearsal on Friday evening, two scenes had problems. One group of ladies’ costumes blended wrong with the lights, one a sunrise scene, and one a sunset. The lighting reflecting from their costumes made them look large, old, and orange, even though they were young, trim, and pretty.

Saturday, we had a final morning dress rehearsal, an afternoon matinee, and an evening performance. So, Saturday morning, I talked to the AD, and since the dress rehearsal was starting and the director wouldn’t want to pause, we decided to adjust the lighting before the matinee. We had a potluck lunch after the practice, so we planned to do it after that. One of the women’s friends sat in the audience during the practice, taking mini videos, and apparently, the problem was even more pronounced on the videos.

After the practice, I went to my pickup and grabbed my food for the potluck. I put it on the table, then joined the line. I happened to be behind the group of women who needed the light adjustments and was listening to them talk about how they looked in the videos.

Then the oldest, Carol, turned to me and scowled. “What are you doing here? You have to be in the production to eat with us.” I was so shocked I couldn’t speak. She then turned to the other ladies and said, “Can you believe the nerve of some people?”

She was speaking so loudly that everyone turned to look at us. Carol and the ladies with her continued to say derogatory things to me and about me, and I felt so uncomfortable that I left. Though everyone had changed out of their costumes to eat, their makeup was a dead giveaway that they were in the musical. I didn’t have any, so they assumed I had nothing to do with it.

Since I had taken my food in for the potluck, the only other thing I had to eat was a sandwich I was saving for the time between the two performances. I went out to my pickup and ate that. When it was time to go in and adjust the lights, I walked onto the stage. I needed to talk to the AD before going to the light booth. The AD was talking to the women, so I paused outside their circle. Carol saw me, and once more she started to berate me.

“What do you think you’re doing? We’re having a private conversation regarding some lighting for the play. You need to leave.” All the ladies joined in to agree with her.

I looked at the AD, and she nodded, as if to tell me to go ahead and leave, so I did. I drove to the park and read a book. After a while, my phone rang, and the AD told me what happened. She said that for about five minutes, Carol went off about how some people were so stupid as to think they could just come around and be part of something when they had done nothing. When she finished, she said to the AD, “Well, I guess we should adjust the lights.”

The AD said, “No, you might as well go do something else.”

“What?” Carol said. “But have you seen how we look in that light?”

The AD nodded. “Yeah, you looked pretty bad.”

“We don’t want to look like that in performance,” Carol said. “We need them adjusted.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you sent the light director away,” the AD said.

She said the look on their faces was priceless.

(To be continued)