things fall apart

So, the theatre I work in likes to fall apart. It particularly enjoys doing so the day of a load-in. Circuits fry, lighting instruments die inexplicably, and I myself shed a bit of dignity while unsuccessfully attempting to hold in sighs of frustration.

We had twelve 8-inch fresnels before this summer. As of today, we are down to nine. They don't break in a way that they could be salvageable, no. The fucking porcelain lamp seat fuses to other things and then breaks off. The reflectors melt into funny shapes. In short, they are old and decrepit.

When a light won't work, it can't just be a bad lamp. Of course not. You must have a bad lamp, a bad cable, AND a bad end cap all at once! And then the second unit you lug up on the ladder will ALSO have a bad end cap. But also, you were in "patch" on the board, you lameberg. Your day is SO awesome. You are really good at making things work.

So you'll toss everything in a big pile labeled NFG and hope that it will disappear before you ever need to repair it.

And why in the world are there eight versions of our rep plot (some from the early 90's) floating around amongst NYC designers? It feels like a bad joke.

I'm tired and cranky, and in about an hour, I get to hop on a train full of annoying people and not have enough room even to cross my legs. What I'm sayin' is, if you're lucky enough to glimpse me in the next coupla hours, you're gonna see some bitches* feel my wrath.

*And by bitches, I mean anyone, male or female, who: can't walk in a straight line, repeatedly jostles me while singing along to Oochie Wallie on a cellphone, talks about their awesome new tv addiction, or generally breathes in my direction.