Klutzy Incidents—March 2010

March 2—Red and Orange

Today I arrived at Bass Concert Hall at six o'clock in the morning to work the load in for Fiddler on the Roof. Since I left my Nightmare Before Christmas hoodie at the Long Center, I brought my nice red wool coat with me. During the break, naturally, I spilled orange juice down the front of it. Being a wool coat, the juice rolled off without staining, but I was annoyed nevertheless.

March 3—So that's why they had a coupon.

We went to the grocery store this evening. I bought some vanilla wafers to make banana pudding, mainly because the wafers included a coupon for the bananas, but it had also been a while since I made banana pudding. I got home and sat on the couch watching the news with my dad and opened up the package of wafers to snack on. I pulled out a wafer and glanced at it. To my horror, it looked radioactive orange instead of the usual bland light brown. "Turn on the light! Turn on the light!" I shrieked at my dad. He flicked on the end table lamp, and I peered anxiously into the box. The wafers were multicolored, some orange, some dark brown, some light brown. I had purchased Keebler's rather than Nabisco wafers. They were smaller and uglier than the others, not to mention less flavorful. At least, to the best of my knowledge, they were not toxic.

March 4—Do we carry what?

Today I went to Party City to find accessories for my pirate costume. I have a date this weekend, and we're renting a pirate movie, so I figured I'd dress accordingly. I already have a long black skirt, boots, and a bandana, but I needed a shirt and jewelry. I selected an off-the-shoulder ivory blouse (totally not worth the twenty bucks, but it looks good) and then set about choosing jewelry. I discovered several varieties of pirate jewelry. I at first selected a tacky gold necklace with a ruby skull (by "gold" and "ruby" I of course mean cheap plastic), but then I decided they wouldn't go as well with my black skirt, so I instead chose a black braided necklace with a silver skull and dagger pendant. I changed my mind several more times, dropping several pieces on the floor as I replaced my rejected choices.

I made my way to the checkout stand, removing the ear buds from my iPod just in time to hear the woman in front of me ask the cashier if they sold dildo-shaped party favors. The cashier awkwardly got on her radio to ask, and I jammed my ear buds back into place, inadvertently cranking up the volume as I did so. I decided against turning it down until she left. As I waited, I pawed through the candy in the rack next to me, selecting a small packet of Reese's Pieces. I hadn't had any in a long time and, pleased, placed the packet on the counter, trying and failing not to look smug as the four-year-old child behind me watched enviously. 'That's what growing up is all about, kid,' I thought as I recalled the joy with which I received my driver's license and the freedom that it represented.

After that, I went to Half Price Books to work more on rebuilding my collection. I had a list with me, and I added to my cart and scratched items off the list, gloriously sprawling across the aisle and pretending not to notice the annoying woman trying to get around me at every aisle. Finally, when I was ready to leave, I asked the guy behind the counter if the woman in charge of the fiction and literature section were there. She had spoken to me about my impossibly long list and asked if I could just hand over a list of books I still sought so she could keep an eye out for me. She wasn't there, though, since she was out with the flu. I won't be able to return to the bookstore for at least a week due to work, so maybe she'll be better by then.

March 7—Fiddlesticks

I worked the load out for Fiddler on the Roof tonight, planning to leave the house early since it was a bit rainy. I was getting ready when I discovered, to my horror, that my eyebrow pencil was missing. My brows have always been a bit patchy, meaning I will never have glorious Elizabeth Taylor/Audrey Hepburn/Brooke Shields eyebrows. I didn't want to go to work with a naked face, so I stopped by the supermarket to purchase a new one. The one I usually use was sold out and not yet restocked, so I had to purchase a different, more expensive brand in a too-dark shade. I raced out of the store (to the tune of a bit of light mockery from a couple of local teenagers who got pushed aside a bit roughly for their troubles) and into the car. I fought with the stubborn vacuum seal on the package of the eyebrow pencil, tearing it open and snapping the pencil in half in the process. No matter. I put on the makeup in the rear view mirror, started the engine, and drove to the UT campus. I for once managed to back neatly into the parking space on Dean Keeton without having to start over several times. I still fretted and attempted to tweak and perfect the job but then abandoned it and got the hell out.

I didn't do anything more clumsy than usual during the out, but later I gave two coworkers rides home. It was raining, and I kept missing the signs for the on ramp to I-35. I gave up and stayed on the lower deck. I dropped the first coworker off and then the second without incident, and then I dragged myself home for a quick shower before collapsing into bed without taking the time to dry my hair.

March 8—I acted rather as a phantom.

I woke up, bleary eyed, after four hours' sleep last night. I reminded myself all day that it could have been worse, because my call time today got changed from eight a.m. to noon, and had it remained at eight, I'd have got no sleep at all. I drank some coffee, ate a banana, threw some snacks into my bag, brushed my teeth, hastily applied a bit of makeup, and drove to the North Lamar Transit Center.

I fumbled for change in my coat pockets and took my seat on the bus, trying not to concentrate on how sleepy I was. I arrived backstage at Bass Concert Hall and sat down to read a bit before work began.

We began unloading trucks, and before long, I'd managed to crack a nail. It hurt for a moment but wasn't serious. I helped push several large pieces to the stage, including the famous chandelier. One heavy piece in particular was, I'm sure, too heavy for the theatre. The floor made ominous cracking noises beneath our feet and we pushed the prop over it. One of the other hands told me later that he caught a glimpse of the storage room below the stage through a crack in the deck. I'm not sure how much I want to come back later this week and early next week to work on this show again.

Anyway, I got cut just after four, and I of course left my book backstage. Oh well; I'll be back Thursday.

I looked for my phone to check my messages to see if my date had replied to my message regarding getting together for dinner before I went to work at the Erwin Center. I failed to locate my phone and realized I had left it at home. I took the bus back to the transit center, drove home, and saw that he had texted me saying we could meet at four forty-five. It was of course long past that by then. No matter. I showered, had a snack, checked my email, and headed down to the Erwin Center.

I didn't do anything overly clumsy at the Erwin Center, though I did encounter a couple of cables from hell. Apparently some idiot at a previous call had done that damn hand-over-elbow thing with the cable, which is how you ruin a cable. It was a spaghetti mess that I tried desperately to fix, but it was useless. I gave up and then discovered . . . the other cable from hell. I was pulling a three hundred thirty foot cable through the stands, and some audience member had puked all over it. Four or five of us were pulling it, and we all narrowly avoided throwing up ourselves. It couldn't be over too soon. I washed my hands thoroughly and made a note to burn my gloves when I got home. With the unfortunate puke cable out of the way, I went down to the dock to push cases onto the trucks and found myself standing near a coworker I'd worked with at AC/DC but not really talked to since. I had the feeling he disliked me since I was recovering from the flu at AC/DC and not really in top form, meaning I was nearly useless. My memories of the show are a cough medicine-tinted haze. The other stagehand and I had a few awkward moments of eye contact, and at the end of the night, I made a note to myself to try to talk to him a bit next time. It might make it even more awkward, but I figured it wasn't likely to get worse.

March 9—Pythons and Sports Bras: Not As Sexy As You Might Think

This afternoon, after a nice long sleep, I decided to abandon my chores in favor of the beautiful weather outside. I went to the pet store to purchase a scratching post for the cats, and during the visit, I nearly released a python. Nothing happened, though, so I purchased a scratching mat and a cat bed and left quickly.

I reflected that once work settles a bit, I'll be able to exercise in the mornings again, and I decided to purchase some sports bras for the purpose. I have never owned a sports bra; I just exercise in a leotard. My short sleeved leotard grew too small for me, though, and the long sleeved leotard is too warm for warmer weather. I thusly found myself standing in front of a wall of sports bras, trying to dig my way through several brands to determine the advantages and disadvantages of each style. I decided to go with Danskin since I already have some of their stuff and have been pleased thus far. The Danskin stuff was scattered throughout the already-disorganized wall, and I completely lost it multiple times. I selected a couple of styles in a couple of different sizes and made my way to the fitting room. I pulled on a size small in one style and found that it was far too small. I damn near didn't get the thing off again. It pulled and pinched horribly, discombobulated my already-untidy hair, and threatened to remove my ears altogether. I gingerly placed it back on the coat hanger, which stubbornly resisted. I'm quite sure I tore the bra, but I couldn't be bothered with checking. Luckily, the size medium fit. I purchased a couple of the styles I liked and returned home, wishing I didn't have to be up early the next day so I could actually wear them. Oh well.

March 10—Old Ladyship Hits Soon

After spending most of yesterday asleep, I felt refreshed today. That was quickly canceled out when, an hour into the load in at the Erwin Center, some jackass ran into my heel with a motor case. It nearly brought tears to my eyes, and I had to take some pain killers for it. I put ice on it during the break, and I soaked it in Epsom salts when I got home before returning for the load out. I walked with a limp for the rest of the day and will likely be limping for at least a week. I won't be going anywhere for a few days. I was lucky, though—it's badly bruised and a little swollen, but it didn't break the skin or become discolored or anything. I talked to my coworker from AC/DC about it, actually—I had been meaning to talk to him because he still appears to hate me, and I do not want him to. I had meant to engage in a bit of light banter not related to work as a means of breaking the ice, but it doesn't matter. He heard me talking about my foot injury and piped up, telling me about how he'd snapped his Achilles tendon when Elton John's piano fell on it.

"I felt that thing snap like a rubber band," he said as I winced. "It took ten people to lift it off me." Horribly squeamish, I told him,

"By contrast, my day just brightened considerably." Everyone laughed. " . . . Though really, foot injury and all, today is still going better than the other night when we had to coil cable through puke."

"It's a character building experience," he said.

"My character was fine before that happened," I retorted.

Later on, I talked to the same coworker again when we were loading out. I asked him,

"Do you ever work at Bass Concert Hall?"

"No, I never have," he replied.

"Do you have the number to call [the stage manager] over there?"

"Yeah, but I haven't managed to get in touch with him yet."

"You should give him a call," I said. "The Phantom of the Opera is coming up, and they're bound to need hands, at least for the load out. You're a good hand, and I like to work with good people . . . especially since a lousy hand ran into my foot earlier."

"Thanks!" he said, smiling. He looked like a bashful teenaged boy; it was cute. I hope we will get along better from now on.

Then I got back to work breaking truss. The guy I was working with blissfully overlooked the "do not break" sign taped to the truss he was breaking, and he'd just taken all the hardware out when somebody pointed out the sign. I laughed hysterically and helped him put all the hardware back. That wasn't really my clumsiness, but I contributed.

Then I gave Freefall (the stagehand, not my pet cat) a ride home and returned home myself to sleep for an hour before working for Phantom again the next day.

March 11—I knew there was a reason I hated that garage.

I had to be at Bass Concert Hall at eight o'clock this morning, which was completely disgusting after how late I'd worked last night. I arrived bright and early, yawning my head off like half the other people there who'd also been at the load out last night, and I limped all day due to my foot. Several people inquired after my foot—"It fucking hurts."—and I happily swallowed a revolting cup of coffee on the break, during which I also scattered donut glaze all over the floor. I had selected a donut with what looked like a light maple glaze on it, only it turned out to be extra thick sugar or something instead. Repulsed, I picked it all off over the trash can, leaving white crumbs all over the black floor in my wake.

At one, I got cut and limped back to my car, ignoring the crowd of school children swarming the area in front of the garage. I cursed the "elevator out of service" sign at the pedestrian entrance to the garage—Why, on this of all days, was it unavailable to me?—and ignored the confused conversation of the three men in front of me who couldn't figure out where to pay. I briefly considered pointing out the large, all caps sign stating that there were no cashiers at the exits but thought the better of it and instead hurried to overtake them, limp and all. I rolled my eyes at the "shift change in progress" sign and hobbled to the window at the end at which the cashier frantically pointed. I paid and returned to my car.

I tossed my heavy backpack onto the passenger seat, buckled myself in, cued my iPod, and headed to the exit with my window rolled down and ticket in hand, promptly scratching my left rear view mirror on the ticket dispenser. Clutching the steering wheel and swearing quietly, I inched backwards, not compensating enough and only succeeding in scratching my mirror again. There was no harm done, but I was nevertheless mortified. (Actually, it doesn't really matter since somebody scraped my mirror in a parking lot once, so it was already scratched anyway.) I guiltily stuffed my ticket into the dispenser and waited for the gate to open, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel while hunched down in my seat and hoping anxiously that I was not about to be overtaken by an angry swarm of parking garage attendants for the damage I had inflicted to their admittedly already ugly equipment. After a brief eternity, the gate squealed up, and I roared down the sloping exit ramp and onto the highway home.

March 12—No wonder canes are seen as weapons.

Predictably, I slept sixteen hours upon arriving home from work yesterday. When I woke up, I decided that it was high time I did something about my hurt foot, so I went first to CVS and then to Walgreen's looking for a cane. I found a cane at Walgreen's that suited me well; only it's a clinical metal thing with a quad base, where I would have preferred an impractical classic design with a blade inside it. Oh well. It works for my foot. I stood there in the middle of the aisle, fiddling with the push button locking mechanism to adjust the height. The cane shot out of my hands and bounced on its rubber feet off the floor with a loud, comical sproing. People stared. The pharmacist glared. I hastily collected myself and hobbled to the checkout stand.

Once in the car, I headed back to my house. At the first stoplight, the cane toppled forward and landed smartly against the dash. Hardly one to complain about yet another small ding in the car, I pushed it irritably down and returned to the house. I practiced wobbling about on it and then made some hot water with Epsom salts in it, violently recoiling at the first dip of my toes into the near-boiling water. I waited for it to cool and wound up reheating it twice and continued soaking my foot as I read, and then I went upstairs to work on the computer, practicing using my cane to herd cats as I went.

March 13—Did Myself a Mischief

This evening we went to the grocery store, my first trip out of the house with the cane. It was a little awkward; I collected a few glances, most likely because usually only those belonging to the over-seventy crowd use a cane. Nevertheless, I managed to navigate the grocery store without incident until we were leaving, when I managed to stumble and kick myself right in the sore spot of my left heel. It brought tears to my eyes, but, I reflected as I blinked and shook myself, at least I already had a cane to lean on.

March 16—Apparently it takes more than a brightly colored tag to keep me in place.

Today was the first day of the actual load in for Phantom. I showed up early and put my stuff away, quickly getting assigned to one of three teams of pushers. We had color coded tags on to keep us organized, and I of course immediately lost my group of fellow pushers. Luckily, I sorted myself out within a few minutes and without getting into trouble. I hate to think what might have been.

March 17—Well, it was kind of lucky.

I returned to the theatre for one hour today for the last of the load in for Phantom. Seeing as how it was St. Patrick's Day, I wore green. I at first wanted to wear my olive green utility pants and a short sleeved black shirt, but my dad pointed out that it was supposed to be cooling off later. I didn't think it would be an issue since I wouldn't be at the theatre long, but just in case, since it really sucks working outside in the cold without adequate coverage, I changed into jeans with a long sleeved green shirt. Predictably, I wound up working outside in the sun the entire time, and the long sleeves were not very comfortable. As I noticed later, though, I got a touch of sunburn along my neck and nose, and if I had been wearing short sleeves, I would have been more burnt.

March 23—Happy birthday, Kirston!

Today being my old roommate Kirston's birthday, I sent him some cash with a card. I should, of course, have done that two or three days ago, but time escaped me. So I went to the bank tonight to procure cash, and I of course botched my transaction. I got the cash without erasing my bank account, of course, but I didn't manage to keep straight from which account I meant to get cash. I therefore took cash from my savings account instead of my checking account. Oh well. I then went home and put the cash inside the card, onto which I wrote a note. I should have written the note on the righthand side of the card, really, but I was afraid I would run out of room. The result, of course, was that the lefthand side of the trifold card has the distracting note on it and the hidden righthand side, where the note should have been written, is oddly blank. Whatever; he probably won't read it anyway.

March 26—Crème Brûlée translates to "burnt cream," but somehow I doubt that's what they meant.

Today, for my dad's birthday, I baked a chocolate cream pie. I left the chocolate cream filling on the stove too long, and it was slightly burnt. It wasn't unpalatable, but it was not as tasty as it might have been.