Some people are lucky.  They have a knack for being that right place at the right time for the world to drop wonderful things into their lap.

I am not usually one of those people.  My name  is never the one on the raffle ticket, and the only time I’m finding money on the street is when my stories suck.  But there have been two momentous incidents of sheer, blinding good luck in my life.  Moments when I unknowingly walked into situations that introduced untold happiness into my life.  One of those was the night that I met my husband.  And the other happened the other day.

Remember my new job?  The one that is awesome?  Yup.  So, I went to work on Saturday, totally gassed up to be working the Margaret Cho show.  But when I showed up, I was informed that our Head Electrician had quit, so they were moving me over to the Bo Burnham show going on in the adjacent theatre.  Okay, that makes sense; I’m sure whoever was the original electrics tech was getting bumped up to Head Elec, and I was getting put on spotlight.  Yeah, that’s definitely what’s going.

I continued to think that while the Technical Director started discussing color washes with me.  I continued to think it while we talked about which fixtures to use for specials.  I stopped thinking it, however, when he told me to go to the color room and pick color.  Because, that’s not technician responsibilities; that’s Head Electrician responsibilities.

Which totally explains why I found myself standing in the color room, staring blankly at the files full of color, with my hands shaking and sweat drenching my t-shirt.  At that moment in time, I felt totally and utterly lost.  I knew that I was being given the job of Head Electrician, if only for one show, and I felt in no way prepared for it.  I’ve been on countless lighting crews, but I’ve almost never been the one leading those crews.  It’s sort-of like the Mayor of Plainsville, Pennsylvania being greeted one morning with, “Good morning, Mr President!”  There is literally a moment when you’re truly terrified that you might loose all control of your bowels and shit yourself.  For the life of me, I couldn’t even figure out how in the hell I got this job, let alone what to do with it now that I had it.  This was only my 5th day of work!  I still didn’t know if we had a microwave, and here I was a crew head!  Was there no one more qualified sitting around?  One of the other technicians, maybe?  An over-hire?  A janitor?

There wasn’t.  Just me.  That right person, with a healthy lighting resume, at that right time, when the Head Electrician quit.

So I did it.  I picked some colors, I focused some lights, and I sat behind the board and ran the show.  Because what are you going to do when you’re handed a glorious opportunity like that? Say, “Oh, sorry, I don’t think I’m quite ready for this job, can I try again in a few months?”  No, you put your head down, you close your eyes, and you fucking do it.  Granted, I was absolutely terrified, from that first moment I selected R49 (a magenta-ish color) for my pipe-ends system until I shut down the board at the end of the night.  But it was also absolutely exhilarating.  To know that it was by the touch of my fingers that the lights on stage changed during songs, and that someone had enough faith in me after four days to trust my fingers to do so.  I’m not going to pretend it didn’t feel pretty good on the ol’ ego.

And truth be told, I didn’t totally suck, either!  Okay, so maybe I did accidentally plunge the audience into total darkness at the top of the show; it’s cool, they seemed to dig it.  And I may have accidentally turned on the house lights in the middle of the guy’s act.  Luckily, my boss and co-workers are very cool guys, and were very sympathetic to the situation I was, ahem thrown into.  To be honest, I was just shocked that they wanted me to come back.

And they did.  I did a rock show the next night, (Robin Trower, anyone?  Me either.) and I’ve got two more this weekend (Bernie Williams and Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.)  I still can’t totally believe that it’s real, and a part of me is afraid that at any moment someone’s going to jump out of the curtains, twiddle their mustache, and yell, “Ah-ha!  An impostor!  She’s not a real Head Electrician!  Look, this wig comes right off!”  Or something of that nature.  But until someone does, (or I loose the duel,) I’m going to enjoy the fact that for once, it was my perfectly placed life that the Universe felt like dropping something random and wonderful into.

As some of you (ahem…Allison,) may have noticed, I’ve been a bit scarce around here.  The reason, (I didn’t say excuse, I said reason,) is that I got a new job.  A moment of celebration, please.  No growing depression and sliding sanity for Stephanie this year!

Anyway.

It’s a pretty good job, working for a roadhouse theatre in Albany called The Egg.  That seriously looks like an egg.

Believe it or not, there's a couple of theatres somewhere in there.

It’s a nice space, well maintained and with a good inventory on hand.  Despite my now-bosses original warning that the job was a part-time, over-hire, as-needed, (read: don’t get your hopes up, kid,) I’ve worked four gigs so far this week, with four more lined up into the next week.  (Including head electrician for Margaret Cho tomorrow, [squeal!] which will clearly lead to us being best friends.  Clearly.)  The guys I’m working with are cool, very fun and very laid back, and so far I’m really digging this job.

But there’s one massive  blight on my new job.  One enormous bit of evil, that ruins my day like an errant fingernail clipping ruins the delicious comfort of a warm bed.

It’s not the 40-minute commute in either direction, though that is a bit of a drag.  It’s not the uncomfortable amount of asbestos that resides within the space.  It’s not even the long hours that keep me from seeing much of my husband.  (No matter how bad-ass the gig or fun the co-workers, a 12 hour day will kick anyone’s ass.)

It’s far worse.

It’s the parking.

Attached to this behemoth complex is a multi-level parking garage.  It’s a rather nice one, guarded by state troopers, and there’s always an empty spot close to the elevators.  But the price of this pleasant convenience…well, let’s say that I’d rather they just cut to the chase and start collecting appendages.

It’s $2 an hour, which if you’re going to see the ballet for two hours is fine, but if you’re working an 11-hour day like I did on Wednesday, it ends up being a substantial amount.  Graciously, they’ve placed a cap at $20, (so kind,) but $20 a day is a lot of money when you consider that I’m only pulling $13 an hour.  For the privilege of parking my car.  Granted, I don’t always have to pay.  On weekends I can park on the street without paying.  And sometimes,  the arm is up when I leave, which I hope to god means that I don’t have to pay, because I don’t.  So sometimes I get to park next to the elevator for free, and sometimes I get to park next to the elevator for $20.  It’s literally playing Russian Roulet…with my credit card.

It fucking pisses me OFF!  $20!  To park my car!  Who in the hell thinks they deserve $20 of my money!  Nothing makes me angrier than sticking my credit card in that fucking grey box so the damn red and white striped arm will raise and let me through. And the anger?  It doesn’t go away.  Oh, no.  Instead, it festers for 40 minutes, so that when I walk in the door at home, it’s been marinating and is plenty bitter.  Which is awful unfortunate for my poor husband when he’s ambushed by Hurricane Angry Bitch upon my return.

The nights that I don’t have to pay, however?  Puts me on top of the damn moon.  Instead of spending the entire commute fuming, I spend it belting Avril Lavign and Journey, and I walk in the door doing the fox trot and singing Moondance before I try to take off his pants.  So not only does this arm barrier dictate whether I loose out on my last hour’s worth of income, it also dictates which wife Kyle sees walk through the door and whether I go to bed angry at the world.  That’s how much control that fucking arm has over my life.

I need a moment.

Okay.

I’m sorry, I don’t usually like to complain about work like this.  I really do like my job.

(But seriously!  $20!)

AT RISE: Kyle and Stephanie stand in a corridor at a local art gallery.  They are among well-dressed people from Kyle‘s theatre, all admiring paintings based on the theatre’s past productions.

They are approached by an older gentleman, likely in his late 50’s.

ELDERLY MAN: (Places hand on Kyle’s shoulder.)  How are you doing?

KYLE: (Assumes that the man is someone from the theatre, knows that he’s the new Technical Director, and means it in a joking punch-in-the-arm kind of way.) Oh, great, great.

ELDERLY MAN: (Faces Kyle and places his other hand on Kyle’s other should.  To Stephanie without taking his eyes off Kyle.) He’s a very handsome man, isn’t he?

STEPHANIE:  (Smiling, thinking that he’s joking.) Yes, he is!  (Kyle looks extremely uncomfortable.)

ELDERLY MAN: (Still without looking away from Kyle’s face.) Oh, did you come together?

STEPHANIE: Yup!  (Kyle’s face is noticeably pale.)

ELDERLY MAN: (Finally looks at Stephanie, with intensity.) Do you love him?

STEPHANIE: (Holds up her ringed left hand and takes Kyle’s hand in her right.  Kyle looks as if he would like very much like to cry.) Enough to marry him!

ELDERLY MAN: (Quickly drops his hands from Kyle’s shoulders.) Oh, OH, you’re married!

The three shift uncomfortably and laugh nervously. Kyle grips Stephanie’s hand very hard.  Fingers are broken. Elderly Man asks Stephanie what kind of work she does, but doesn’t listen to the answer.  He turns to Kyle.

ELDERLY MAN: So, what do you do for a living?

KYLE: (Stares at him with horror.) I’m…I’m the new Technical Director.  At this theatre…here.

ELDERLY MAN: Ah…

He turns his head to say hello to a woman coming up behind him.  As soon as his head turns, Kyle shoves Stephanie in the back in the direction of the exit.

KYLE: (In a terrified shouting-whisper.) GO!  GO!  Seriously, let’s get the FUCK out of here!  GO!

Stephanie trips over herself and they walk make a break for the exit.  Once in the car, Stephanie laughs so hard that she wets herself.  Kyle tells her to go to the deepest part of hell.  They recover by going to the pub and ordering fish and chips and Guinness.

CURTAIN