Strange Twist of Fate's Ankle

I'm trying not to let it go to my head. No, no, do not kiss the ring. I'm checking my ego. You see, as soon as San Diego bestowed two community theatre acting awards upon me, it was inevitable: the folks in Nashville began to clamor for my triumphant return to the professional realm.

As a techie. (Ahem!)

The most recent in a line of Stage Managers filling the position I once vacated has quit. And the show must go on. Having held the post for a number of years, I am best qualified to fill in during an emergency. Having been unemployed for seven months, I am eager to receive a paycheck. And so I will return to the land of Dixie before the week is out.

At this Nashville theatre, unlike any other I know, the title “Stage Manager” is all-encompassing. The one to whom it is attached is required to be the entire tech crew: hanging lights, locating and editing sound cues, replacing props, controlling special effects, cleaning and repairing the set, operating light and sound boards, announcing time calls, herding the cast, maintaining equipment, and the list goes on. Even on-the-spot costume repair and medical treatment fall into the Stage Manager’s purview. In fact, in a theatre where the “magic stage” is a 15x15 set that lowers from its second floor home to its first floor audience, the Stage Manager is an elevator operator and maintenance man to boot. Though it is a necessary job, it is a demanding and thankless one that few people hold for more than a year. It does not take a newcomer long to become disgruntled. It takes him only a bit more time to call it quits. But when he does, I receive a phone call. Please, please, pretty please….

Now, while I greatly appreciate the San Diegan praise for my work, work done here has been performed outside of the professional arena. Which is to say I ain’t been paid in a while and any offer of a paycheck when I get back to Tennessee sounds pretty good, even if I have to be behind the scenes to earn it. So, while another naïve college graduate is sought to unwittingly sell her soul for professional experience, I’ve agreed to temporarily reclaim the helm of my old tech booth.

Of course, in the Fates’ plaything that is my life, as soon as I agreed to hide once again behind the scenery, I received two offers of potential work in front of it: one a personal audition invitation from a director here in San Diego, the other a callback for a show at the very theatre where I’d just agreed to stage manage in Nashville, and both extraordinary in their content and timing. The best unbidden opportunities always seem to visit when you cannot greet them. I cannot audition in San Diego because I’ve agreed to return to Nashville, and I will not get the acting job in Nashville because my services may be needed in the tech booth. If I were to be cast before a new SM was found, the show could not go on.

The Fates have a droll sense of humor.

But I’m willing to give them credit where it’s due: at least they’ve provided a paycheck. Feeding the ego is nice, but feeding the budget is more important.