THOSE WHO SUFFER LOVE
I can't really pick a good place to start right now. I'm all over the place.
First of all, oh the fucking techie drama. It's ridiculous.
Let me explain.
First of all, let me just point out that techies, by nature, have no drama. We are drama free animals and, in fact, are just generally irritated by that of others. So the very idea of us feuding is just ridiculous.
It goes like this-
So the stage manager, Yonnie [notrealname], has one job. He sits there, and listens to the headsets.
In short, he functions as the one connection between the tech table and backstage. While I have a headset, I can't actually listen to it because I have to listen to what's going on.
And it's an important job. It really is.
But, if we're going to be perfectly frank, IT TAKES NO EFFORT AND/OR BRAIN CELLS. Just responsibility.
I suppose we all just forgot that the vast majority of Bosco guys have the temperment of thirteen year old girls.
It all happened last night.
First, he was late to everything. As in, he missed his cue EVERY SINGLE TIME. And to clear up any questions- HE ONLY HAS TWO.
But, seriously, I could have dealt with that. You know, whatever. I know how that is.
But that thing that really killed it (You know, besides the fact that he talked the whole time, sang all of the songs, and attempted to repeat every single lyric) has to do with the fact that my table, which spills over onto his, is covered in incredibly sensitive attenas.
And that these incredibly sensitive antennas are attached to all of the actors. And that any electronics, especially cell phones, severely interfere with their reception. And that the reception already sucks because we're in a building with a steel structure (and I could get into that bit of sound aerodynamics stuff, but I realize that absolutely no one cares).
So rule number one of the tech table since day 1? No cell phones.
No cell phones especially on nights when the whole audience is comprised of stupid jackass teenagers who are just there for extra credit and won't turn of their fucking parental bought razrs no matter how many goddamn times we tell them.
So what does he do?
It's one of the most critical, important scenes in the entire play. There are only four characters on stage, all of whom have had various technical difficulties throughout the run of the play.
He fucking whips out his cell phone and starts text messaging.
The conversation following goes like this:
"Yonnie, turn your cell phone off."
"...(continues texting)..."
"Yonnie, your cell phone needs to be off."
"...No, no, wait..."
"Turn your cell phone off, I can't have interference right now."
"... No..."
"Yonnie, get off the stage if you're to keep that-"
"Don't talk to me like that, you fucking bitch!"
From Melissa (Lighting) and Myself: Mildly Stunned Silence.
So, you know, what are you gonna do right? I just have to continue doing my job and try to override the fact that he's fucking everything up as best as I can. And afterward as I'm collecting the mics, I just run up to Mr. B. and, while I don't really mean to gloat, it went like this-
"Hey, I need to talk to you after the show."
"What?"
"(irritated) He is so fired."
"Who?"
"Yonnie! He-"
"Okay."
And he went backstage and told him his services were no longer required. Just like that.
So, one would assume that that would be the end wouldn't they? That that was really all the drama our poor little techie minds could handle.
Oh no.
Tonight- HE FUCKING SHOWED UP.
So Mr. B, he just comes up to Melissa and Pam (the other lighting junkie) and me and tells us that we have to talk to Yonnie and hear what he has to say because apparently he was having some family drama or something.
So we do.
We just sit down at one of the tables outside and are like "Uh...So..."
The first thing he says- the first thing- was "Why did you tell?"
Because, you know.
We're in third grade.
So, anyway, these were his arguments for his behaviour:
1. He didn't "show his emotions to people he didn't like".
2. It wasn't his fault, it was Mr. B's.
3. I had "too much sass", and both he and the whole cast had a problem with it and didn't like it.
(Which I admit is probably true, but if you don't pull an attitude with these people, THEY WON'T DO ANYTHING. EVER.)
So, um, I told Mr. B. After Pam, Melissa and I had just sat there for awhile in more stunned silence.
And so he fired him.
Again.
And even then, after ALL OF THAT, he WOULDN'T FUCKING LEAVE.
He just sat backstage and groped the music tech.
And fucked with our headsets.
So... I don't know. Then there's the whole thing with Marc (Formerly known as God/Liberaci/Sith Lord) is fervently attempting to sexually assault Becca and Ashley...
But that's really a whole other story...
Anyway, right now, teching is all I have time/energy for.
I just come home and watch Monty Python, go to bed, and then do all my homework on the ride over to school.
And now my headache's worse.
So I won't even tell you about career day and how I kept accidentally one-upping the 'stand up comedian' and how she told me that I should write comedy because I had perfect timing and I, again accidentally, said "No, sorry, I'm not a sad middle aged housewife", or the depressed insurance salesman with a mullet and hooker shoes.
Because me and Fernechie are PAIN ASTRO-NOTS! Hellllaaaa.