Day One Of Four

This morning I was pleased to awaken wearing my favorite shorts. The night before, you see, I hid them in my sleep, and was very put out with myself. I talked and walked a lot in my sleep when I was younger, and once went so far as to awaken and thoroughly creep out a bedfellow by unconsciously speaking Parseltongue to the wall.

But to the best of my knowledge, I'd never gone so far as to steal from myself while sleeping, so when I woke up two days ago in not much more than my Honaker Redbud Festival T-Shirt, I was pretty steamed.

I found them. Lucky for Audra.

I shower, put on my best Idaho sweatpants for I know it is going to be a long day, and head to the big theater downtown which I can never remember the name of because - like the other two big theaters downtown- it used to have a different name, so now there are six names of big downtown theaters in my brain and really I just remember it's this one by having people clarify that it's the one right near the 7-11.
Mosqtria? Altriosque? The Centpenter? The Novempire. 

My job today is of the very high stakes variety. I am given a badge on a lanyard. The badge says "ALL ACCESS."*

Tony Foley and I decide we absolutely need Mission: Impossible code names if we are to get through the day in the most dramatic fashion possible. I can't tell you what they are. Mine might be Donut Princess.

We are given high stakes walkie-talkie radio headsets. Sweet! All the better for code name communication. We proceed at once to use our code names solely via text message re. who can loan who the most ibuprofen.

Once I'm all radioed and lanyarded, I am permitted to enter "the lounge," which is code for the group of rooms where we keep lots of cold hummus and pieces of paper reading "NO NUT ZONE."

I know I'll need my wits to be razor sharp today. I've mentally prepared. 

Here she comes. The lady in charge. She has a lanyard too, and a clipboard and a sassy professional hairstyle with good highlights. I square my shoulders and lift my chin- I'm ready for my first assignment.

She stops directly in front of me. 

"Do you....." (She's looking deeply into my eyes like she's going to ask me to perform an appendectomy on someone's unborn child. While that someone is fully conscious.) "think you'd feel comfortable................... slicing up an orange and some strawberries for Desiree Roots?"

Uh. Yes.
This is gonna be great.

I assemble a lovely little plate of fetching fruit slices. I like the knife I use. It's squat and orange.

Eager for my next task, I track down that lady in charge. She is standing behind a red leather sofa with a slight and wiry man who has an enormous spider tattooed on his forearm and exactly 6 white hairs spiking out of the black over his right temple. They are puzzling hard over which people should receive heavy tote bags and which people should receive light tote bags.
I distribute tote bags. In doing so I burn 6,870 calories. I have no idea if there's even a roof in that place.

I find the catering table. I beam at the caterer. Dozens of tiny plastic boxes of Gummi Bears, Non-Pareils, and white-chocolate covered pretzels. Personally I think the boxes are too small. I complain to Mr. Paul. He doesn't do anything about it. 

Mr. Brendan is running around executing fancy tap maneuvers in his sneakers. He's more spry now that his pants have been whip-stitched offstage right next to a hard golden tuffet.

Miss Danae is there as well. Always with her excellent posture and ability to make tennis shoes look dear and petite. I always admire that ability. Whenever I wear sneakers I feel it looks like I've got hippos recently out of spinal surgery on my feet.
Miss Abernathy is there. With her gorgeous and always intricately braided golden hair which I always feel the need to photograph from every angle and then lock myself away for six months trying to replicate on my own head.
Miss Courtney is there with her new daughter. She and Mr. Phil must be very zen at home because this baby is sleeping professionally through sound levels equivalent to a Tyrannosaurus Rex suffering a kidney stone at a death metal concert.
What else do I do on this- Day One?
I smuggle Sierra Mists. Ginnie Willard accuses me of being a hat rack. I watch a movie backwards on a ramp with Joe Doran while we wax nostalgic over tubs of buttercream icing.

It's a good thing I get to go back tomorrow.

*Awkward discovery- when one is seated criss-cross applesauce on the floor at very well-attended production meetings wearing just such a badge and one glances down to realize one's torso and current posture are exactly in line to allow said badge to dangle like a label directly in front of one's crotch, one should IMMEDIATELY either sit up straighter or flip that badge around to one's back lest this lewd label be read and believed.**

**Obviously one should first secretly snap a photo of this situation because this will be a very funny photo for later on Instagram.***

***Rats. One realizes one certainly may not post this photo to Instagram due to the nature of the event one is working. Oh well.