Not My Finest Role

I’d completed my thesis, done my summer theater internship, passed the final exams, and earned all the credits I needed to graduate. Soon I’d be packing up and looking for a job in the theater biz.

A touring theater company from the nearest city casted their Fall season from local colleges. The audition was a pretty big deal, as many of us didn’t even know where to start when it came to finding work. Virginia doesn’t offer many opportunities for gainful employment in the entertainment industry and many of us weren’t ready to move out West just yet.

There were nine graduates in my class all vying for parts in a children’s musical of all things. I’d had very little experience with musicals. I was blessed or cursed with drama teachers from high school through college who hated musicals and felt more at home with obscure, Avant Garde, lesser-known plays.

I had to outsource my musical education with two summer community productions, one of which was Annie where I played Miss Hannigan. Musicals were out of my comfort zone. There’s nothing so nerve wracking as hearing a piano intro ticking down like a clock, then realizing that the next note must come from your own mouth.

I sang ‘Little Girls,’ because that was Miss Hannigan’s big showstopper from Annie and the only song I had the confidence to sing on short notice. The character is drunk and complaining about her job. It’s big and silly, so the focus is on that and not the quality of my voice. I was so mentally exhausted from graduation stuff, that I threw away the audition and just had fun. That’s where the magic happens, apparently because they hired me.

We stayed in company provided housing in the city while we rehearsed. One day when we were walking around the city, I stepped in what I believe was human excrement. My new pair of sneakers got wrecked. I didn’t notice until I was back in the van with my costars. They made a huge deal about it as if my stroke of bad luck was somehow my fault. I cleaned the inside of the van. Then I hosed off the shoes and scrubbed them with all-purpose cleaner. I figured at that point the sneakers were okay to put into the washing machine.

This caused an even bigger uproar with my housemate. She was incensed that I should put a pair of “shit shoes” into the washing machine we shared. Never mind that there was no longer a visible speck of shit on them and that they had been disinfected several times. Never mind that I could not afford to just “throw them away” like she suggested.

There were other things like that. It seemed like I couldn’t make a move without being criticized for some minor infraction of some unwritten, ever-changing code of conduct that existed only in her brain.

The first play of the tour was about a boy raised by animals. I got to play the villain. I’d hypnotize my victims with a song. The number was actually very well written and choreographed, but I was terrified. It always took me longer than average to memorize my lines and I was making everyone nervous.

Hurricane Isabel came through town during the last week of rehearsal. We lost power in our houses and the rehearsal space as well. We missed a few days of rehearsal, but hey, the show must go on.

Our first stop was Oklahoma City. There were five of us in the cast, plus our tour manager who was just as young and clueless as the rest of us. We decided that despite being the only two women on the cast, my housemate and I would choose other roommates on the road. Our first hotel was ritzy. It wouldn’t always be that way. There was a wild disparity in the quality of our lodgings over the course of the tour.

In addition to acting, we all had separate side jobs. We had to unload all the scenery from our van, set it up, break it down, and load it back into the van in each location. Everybody took turns driving the van, but nobody wanted me to drive, so I was stuck washing the costumes instead.

We wore long wrapped Indian inspired garments, but because the fabric was a bit slippery and none of us were very good at getting them to stay put, for modesty’s sake the costume designer gave us black foundation garments. With so many layers, everyone was sweating their asses off. One of the cast members was allergic to scented laundry detergent, so I had to make do with the fragrance-free version. After I washed the costumes, everyone complained that they still smelled like B.O.

Since the show was somewhat educational, we did a Q & A session after every performance. I think one of the parents asked what our greatest challenge was in putting the show together. I mentioned missing some rehearsals due to the hurricane, which I thought was a harmless anecdote. Turns out, it was the reason I was not asked to return for another season.

None of us were really getting along. At times I felt ganged up on, but when I’d ask them what I was doing to make them so upset, they would just huff and give me the silent treatment or laugh at me. They told me that I needed therapy.

I felt trapped, but at the same time I was seeing the country. Some parts were more fun than others, of course. And the hotel situation was sometimes rather dire. We stayed in a few Motel 6’s and Super 8’s. One of the rooms smelled like hot dogs and one even had a blood stain on the carpet!

In spite of it all, my roommate and I went exploring while the others stayed in the hotel moping. I took all my photos with disposable cameras. We saw the St. Louis Arch, gambled on a riverboat casino in Mississippi, took a tour of the Miller brewery in Wisconsin, and farted around lesser-known places with kitschy little shops and attractions on our time off. We also took in the local nightlife. Probably made some poor decisions here and there, but I was twenty-two.

The second show was a Christmas play. One of the places we got to perform was in upstate New York. The company put us up at a bed and breakfast. It was lovely and idyllic when it started snowing, but everyone was miserable and nothing could lift the mood. In this show, I played a mischievous cat belonging to the lead in the play. One time I forgot a stage direction, and rather than improvising, he pinched me hard where the audience couldn’t see.

To top it off, we met some members of another show that was touring with our company. While we were comparing notes, they happened to mention their stipend. We were confused. “You mean our paychecks?”

“No,” they said. “Additional money we get for food and incidentals while on the road. Your tour manager has it. He is supposed to give it to you.”

We were dumbfounded. The tour was nearly over, and we hadn’t seen a dime. Our manager had been stealing it from us and pissing it away on room service and adult pay per view movies.

The company sent me a new script for the next season. This tour had left such a bad taste in my mouth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go forward, especially not with the same cast. After some soul searching, I went to an all-night Kinkos and typed up a letter which summed up my experience.

I was honest about how I’d initially had trouble with my lines, had made a faux pax when I mentioned the hurricane cutting into our rehearsals during the Q & A, and the ways in which members of the cast had been unprofessional. It was a scary thing to write, but I felt like I had to clear the air and I was prepared to face the outcome, whatever it might be.

I was called into the office. The boss said that based on what I described in my letter, they did not want to continue my contract at this time. He said he appreciated my honesty and for what it was worth, the other individuals I named in my letter would not be continuing either.

I told him through tears that I understood his decision. I was actually quite relieved. If this is what they called “paying your dues,” then it was too damned expensive! I raced home and closed the book on acting for good.

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