Klutzy Incidents—April 2010

April 4—If I owned that strap, it wouldn't have been a problem.

This evening I worked the load out for Phantom. Well, actually, it went till ten the following morning, so technically, this is tomorrow's klutzy incident, but whatever. Toward the end of the out, as the sun was rising, I stood on the loading dock with about five other pushers, leaning against a large set cart we were waiting to push onto the truck. Bored, I began fiddling with the paper tag on the ratchet strap that had the instructions for use on it.

"'Do not remove this tag,'" one of my coworkers joked. I protested,

"Well, I wasn't going to r—" —and, mid sentence, the tag popped off the strap in my hand. My coworkers roared with laughter as I tried in vain to pat the tag back into place. I gave up and stuffed the tag in my back pocket.

April 5—It's always the guy at the front desk you hate.

After finishing work at ten this morning, I caught the bus back to my car and then drove down to the Long Center, where I had left my Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie last December. I had phoned them several times asking about it, but I had yet to receive a response. I gave up and went down there in person to see if I could find the jacket. I parked and approached the box office, engaging in a brief albeit confusing conversation with the guy working there, but he wouldn't let me in. How annoying. I gave up, left, and called the Center again, leaving a slightly more annoyed voicemail than I had before. Let's hope it works this time.

April 6—It wasn't the first time I've gate crashed a party, incidentally.

Today, I finally retrieved my hoodie from the Long Center. I got a call this morning and, without so much as combing my hair first, sped down there in my ratty sneakers and old tank top beneath the rapidly-blackening sky. I parked out front—badly. There were a number of spaces marked for fifteen minute parking, all of which were occupied. I parked behind the last one in the space marked "No Parking," re-parking about three times since I suck at parallel parking. I vaulted from the car and sprinted for the door, bursting unceremoniously into a crowd of people in suits. Oops. I decided to ignore them and glanced around for what I thought the receptionist's desk would look like since that was where my jacket was supposed to be. Naturally, I was intercepted.

"Can I help you?" asked a nicely-dressed woman with a nametags I didn't read who was trying not to look annoyed or as though she might summon a threatening security guard at any moment.

"I'm looking for the receptionist," I said, shifting uncomfortably in my dirty sneakers. She gave me directions, and I obtained my jacket without further ado and got the hell out.

April 7—Never dig a vegetable patch where a rock garden should be.

Today I began digging a vegetable patch in the back yard. I nearly put it in the back of the yard by the fence, but then I realized that the ground shifts sharply downhill over there, which meant the patch would flood on one side every time it rained. I moved my bags of dirt, seeds, and tools over to a patch between the shed and the maple tree. I dragged a few warped, splintery, soggy landscape timbers from behind the shed and marked off the area in which I had decided to dig.

It was a disaster.

The first half of the area I had marked off was mainly under gravel, but the weeds that had grown over the gravel had a near-solid mass of roots beneath them that could only be shifted with a pitchfork. Once I had painstakingly removed the sod/root hybrid, I could commence actual digging. That proved nearly as awful, though, since the soil was overwhelmingly rocky. Some of the rocks were nearly as big as my head. I guess the one advantage of that, though, was that at least the area occupied by rocks was not occupied by hard earth or sod-like roots.

April 8—Burn.

I finished digging my vegetable patch today. The soil was still rocky, but at least I did not run into any more sod-like root masses. Instead, I ran into the root system of the maple tree. Oops.

I decided that it was time to stop digging, and I put the tools away and went inside to shower. That was when I discovered that my sunscreen had sweated off, and I had a nasty sunburn across my shoulders, the likes of which I have not had since I was a kid hanging on the beach every day. Luckily, I have a full can of Solarcaine. Can't wait for my skin to start peeling. Ow.

April 9—I should probably buy new sunscreen.

Today I put down dirt in my vegetable patch and planted my seeds. Apart from some difficulty in getting the tomato plants out of their pots without smashing them (indeed, I am quite nervous about their fate), it went well.

Then, of course, I went inside and discovered that my sunscreen (applied somewhat in vain) had once again sweated off, and my sunburn is now even worse. Hurray.

April 10—They can't punish me.

Today I worked the Elton John show at the Erwin Center. I was supposed to be on the video crew, but I was in the restroom when they called for me, so I wound up being reassigned to lighting. I probably wasn't supposed to be happy about that, but of course I was only too happy not to be doing video for once.

April 15—Well-Founded Mistrust

Today I worked the first day of a call at the convention center. As usual when working there, I showed up in a bad mood. To my suspicious (well-founded suspicions, I fear) joy, it was actually okay. I still succeeded in mangling a roll of tape, though.

April 16—Business as Usual

Today was the second day of the load in at the convention center, during which I succeeded in giving myself carpet burn on my arms and a couple of bruises from lifting folding tables. That was all.

April 17—On Professionalism

At the third day of the load in today, the shit hit the fan. I was suspicious of how smoothly everything had gone the previous two days, and today my fears were proven correct. Half of what we did yesterday had to be undone, which was very frustrating. By the end of the day, my nerves were shot, and I was displeased to note that we would have to return early the following morning to work overtime. I uh . . . didn't handle it all that professionally when the steward called my name.

"Lauren Brown, tomorrow morning, seven o'clock."

"FUCK!"

Realistically, I should have been busted for using such language well within earshot of the client, but nothing happened.

April 18—Oil and Water

This morning I wrapped up working the load in at the convention center. Four hours later, we signed out, thus beginning the usual discussions regarding who needed a ride and to where. One guy asked if anyone were headed toward campus, and I said yes, which was kind of true. I have several ways of getting home, and that was one of them. I figured what the hell and offered him a ride. Then he told me where he was going.

He was going to church.

Oh dear.

I hesitantly explained that he might prefer to take the bus since I have a Darwin fish on my car. That, of course, was not what I really meant; what I meant was that I'm a militant atheist who advertises, and he might not want to be dropped off by the likes of me. He did not object, though, and I dropped him off all the same.

April 19—One for the Money, Two for the Show

If only I could be in two places at once. I got a call to work an out at Bass, and I had to turn it down because I was working the load out at the convention center this afternoon. It was supposed to go till midnight, but as I suspected, it only went till ten. I was quite annoyed that I was working at the convention center instead of in the theatre, all the more so since a light fell and smashed on the concrete floor and nearly took out either me or the guy I was working with. *sigh* If only I could double book myself . . . I still wouldn't do it.

April 25—So that's why roadies always bitch about ice shows.

This afternoon, I was awoken by my phone ringing. It was the union calling me to ask if I could work a load out for an ice show about five minutes away from my house. I said yes and showed up early, which turned out to be on time since apparently I had been given the wrong time. Whatever. We still stood around for at least half an hour before doing anything, as usual.

. . . And of course about the first thing that I did was skid on the ice. Luckily, I only skidded a bit instead of faceplanting, but it was a recurring incident throughout the evening. I'm just glad I remembered to bring my hoodie since the ice made it pretty chilly.

April 30—Time for a New Tool Belt

Tonight I worked the load out for Van Morrison at Bass Concert Hall. They put me on backline, so I put on my tool belt in case I need pliers or a screwdriver. I knew the odds were slim, but it's better safe than sorry. Of course, a hole ripped in one of the pouches on my tool belt, and the largest of my Allen wrenches fell out and crashed to the concrete floor backstage. I stuffed it back in place and then removed the offending pouch and placed it back in my backpack. I didn't use any of my tools, anyway.