I talk about ageism more than many other things. I think it's mainly because growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be treated like a competent human. And then suddenly I turned 18 and magically adults finally started treating me like one.
It particularly frustrating at my job right now. I am in between shows for the theatre (minus a small fundraiser I'm working). It means that I've actually had a chance to ref volleyball this fall, which I love. The sport is elegant and I miss it (though not the horrible politics that come with it). In my refing association, I'm the only one under 30 and the association is probably 15% women. I'm not a huge fan of either statistic.
It would be easier to overlook it though, if everyone didn't behave so stereotypically. All the elderly men are patronizing and ready to put a hand on your shoulder and tell you not to worry about things too much, etc, etc. And whatever, it's horrible sexism that I don't put up with when they do it to me, but what's more frustrating is their patronization of the athletes we work with.
In volleyball there is a head ref (generally called the R1 or up ref since they're up on the ref stand) and a secondary ref (generally called an R2 or down ref since they're on the ground). There are line judges for two corners of the court who each have two lines of the court to keep track of. There's a scorekeeper who keeps track of that complicated piece of paperwork. There's a libero track who only tracks the libero (a defensive only player). And finally, there's the person who runs the scoreboard and clock. At each match, the home team provides a score keeper, scoreboard person, libero tracker, and two line judges (if they didn't pay for officials to do lines for them instead).
Frequently, girls from the JV and C teams ref the Varsity (Varsity girls ref the other two teams, etc). And there is no end to the condescension almost every ref treats those girls with. They say things like: "Well they're not really paying attention anyways" or "They're only kids" or "They're not real refs."
Now, here's the thing most of our referees never played volleyball. Most are basketball or football or softball refs who wanted more work and said: volleyball, that's easy and doesn't require running. Well volleyball has an extremely complex set of rules and watching new refs work in invariably painful for at least their first year. In contrast many (probably 50%+) of the girls who are working matches have been playing since they 11 or 12 and so frequently will have quite a few years of experience with the game in comparison to new refs.
There are some leagues that require schools to provide adult support officials (score keepers, line judges, etc). This is even worse than new officials. At least the new officials have a couple weeks of training before they start refing. I would say about half the parents have at least watched their daughters play for a few years, but the other half of the parents generally haven't seen more than a match or two in their life.
Now tell me, who do you want as an official? A girl who knows the game or a adult who doesn't? I would pick the girl every single time. In fact, I will almost always pick the girl who's only played on C team, because even if she doesn't know the game that well, at least she's playing it 5+ days a week for two months.
Most of the refs, including ones who have been working for years, can't scorekeep properly. The score sheet is (probably overly) complex and it's important to get right. Once again, I would prefer a girl who's been scorekeeping for years to an untrained parent or even official.
I don't understand why these girls aren't treated competently! I'm no more competent at score keeping or line judging than I was ten years ago. There was nothing more frustrating than being treated poorly when I was scorekeeping or line judging in high school. By my senior year, I'd played for eight years. I started R2ing club matches (every team is expected to pitch in and help ref on the rounds they aren't playing) when I was 11. I started R1ing when I was 15. By my senior year, I had as much experience as probably at least half the officials and I was unusual but not a complete anomaly. In this case, age simply doesn't matter. Knowledge of the game and skill level, however, do!
The other day I was working a junior high match so the oldest girls were no older than 13. I was given two line judges who'd done lines once before and so were nervous. I walked them through my expectations and the rules, as I do with all line judges, and then we started the match. At first they were hesitant, but after they'd made a few calls and I'd nodded at them encouragingly, they got into it. They actually even understood some of the technicalities some officials don't understand. They would come up to me at time outs and apologize for missing some technicality and I'd explain what it was. Both girls even caught foot faults (where the server steps on the back line before contacting the ball). My R2 was surprised that they'd caught them, but I wasn't.
If you expect people to be competent, if they actually possess the pertinent skills, they will meet your expectations because they don't want to let you down. This isn't necessarily always true, but I've found it works with most everyone: dogs, kids, actors, coworkers. The fact that someone is younger doesn't mean they're stupid or even less competent. It does generally mean they have less experience and practice, but even that's not always true. I just wish we could treat everyone like capable human-beings until proven otherwise.
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
My Own Place
If you've read my last several posts, I'm sure you've realized that something is very different in my life. I don't really want to talk about it, even here, but I am currently living alone. I have a one bedroom apartment with my dog, cat (who I'm finally living with again after two years), and four fish tanks (two of them are very small...).
A friend of mine assured me that I would love living alone. I was skeptical, but it turns out that she's right. I have certainly been happier in my lifetime, but there is a lovely freedom to not having roommates. I can make whatever food I want, I can leave things out and it's not the end of the world, I use my space however I want. It's invigorating. That all being said, I have never kept a living space so clean (aside from dog toys on the ground, which is a battle I just can't win). I can leave dishes in the sink, no one's going to bug me about them, so I do them promptly. I can leave jewelry out of the table, so instead I put it away. As a child, I was extremely contrary, as an adult, I do my absolute best not to be, but it stills come through sometimes.
I was rereading my early posts on the blog (there were some horrendous typos and grammar errors, sorry) and was realizing that living alone this time is nothing like it was back then. Back then, I was living in someone else's space. I only had a room to myself and it chafed on me. Here, though there are times when I'm so lonely I can hardly function, at least the space is mine.
I miss people a lot. But having my own place is nice.
A friend of mine assured me that I would love living alone. I was skeptical, but it turns out that she's right. I have certainly been happier in my lifetime, but there is a lovely freedom to not having roommates. I can make whatever food I want, I can leave things out and it's not the end of the world, I use my space however I want. It's invigorating. That all being said, I have never kept a living space so clean (aside from dog toys on the ground, which is a battle I just can't win). I can leave dishes in the sink, no one's going to bug me about them, so I do them promptly. I can leave jewelry out of the table, so instead I put it away. As a child, I was extremely contrary, as an adult, I do my absolute best not to be, but it stills come through sometimes.
I was rereading my early posts on the blog (there were some horrendous typos and grammar errors, sorry) and was realizing that living alone this time is nothing like it was back then. Back then, I was living in someone else's space. I only had a room to myself and it chafed on me. Here, though there are times when I'm so lonely I can hardly function, at least the space is mine.
I miss people a lot. But having my own place is nice.
Injuries
And now, in the less distraught world...
I've been injured fairly seriously twice in the past year. I tore a tendon in my wrist and I nearly decapitated two of my fingers on my left hand. Oh, and now that I think about it, I broke the pinkie on my left hand (in an entirely separate accident). Physical pain is almost trivial at this point, I practically forgot that I broke a bone. Which is not to say that I've broken many bones, but over the course of my relatively short life, I've actually had a lot of physically painful injuries.
When I was younger I sprained my left ankle three times in one summer and my right ankle twice. I was out for less than a week for sports each time. I iced, took advil, taped my ankle and was back a few days later. That's just how I handled pain, even from a young age. I think I was eleven that summer. I did end up wearing ankle braces for several years after that while playing soccer, because my ankles were weak, but it wasn't a big deal.
I think my first truly serious injury, at least in my mind, was I had a second degree tear of my right MCL, which is the medial ligament in your knee. I was a freshman in high school and playing on both junior varsity and varsity for volleyball. During practice with JV, I went up for a block and the middle hitter on the other side of the net went up to joust with me . As we came down, she came under the net and bumped into me. I landed on the heel of my right leg, which hyper-extended and twisted, tearing my MCL. I went to the trainer, she told me the probable diagnosis, gave me some ice, and wrapped my knee. I think I was one crutches for a day, maybe two. It was my first and only time on crutches. I wore a borrowed brace that entire time.
It took me nearly two weeks to recover. Never in my life had I sat out for so long. In fact, I think that's the only time I ever just couldn't practice. The pain was always completely manageable, but what scared be was the instability in my leg. I would sometimes just take a step and, even with a brace, my knee would start to buckle and hyper-extend. To this day, that tendon still gets sore in I spend too much time in a position where my knees are bowing in (for instance focusing lights in box booms).
Playing club volleyball that winter, I cracked ribs on the right side of my body. I dove, got the ball up, but landed too hard on my ribs. I didn't hear them crack the first time, but even breathing was painful. I, being the stubborn idiot I am, never even missed a play that day. The last vestige of pain from the injury I remember being fall of my senior year. I re-cracked them at least twice. I know at the Reno National Qualifier I re-cracked them. They were almost healed, but then, sophomore year, shortly before I injured my shoulder, I was passing a ball and the teammate in front of me reached back to play a ball that wasn't hers. Her fist went right into my ribs and that time, I actually did hear them crack. I think that was the only time I ever swore on the court or field (not that I think anything of swearing these days).
I have an entire post devoted to my shoulder injury. But in short, during practice my sophomore year of high school, I came down from a block and then my teammate came down after me and her elbow collided with my collarbone. I ended up with impingement from that immediate encounter (which again, the trainer at my school diagnosed correctly (it took orthopedists 5 years to believe me)). I think my grandparents were the only ones who realized quite how chronic my pain was. There were times when I couldn't jump serve, particularly after a long tournament, it was just too painful. I abused advil to no end. I think at it's worst, I was taking five advil to cut the pain. I switched to another pain killer and still couldn't get a doctor to believe that I was in pain from a serious problem.
By the time I convinced an orthopedist I wasn't faking, I had not only impingement, but bursitis, a torn labrum, a 33% tear of my rotator cuff, and multi-direction instability in my tendons, meaning they had to shorten them all. I was in a sling for two months and then not even close to recovered until two months after that. I am daily thankful that the surgery fixed everything. I knew I was in constant, chronic, relatively severe pain, but I didn't realize what a drain it had been on me till it was gone.
From there, I didn't have any injuries for quite awhile. Stage management isn't exactly the most dangerous profession. A few months after I started at Starbucks, I developed carpal tunnel. It wasn't painful at all, but my hands went numb, which is mildly terrifying when serving boiling beverages to people. I got a brace and that seemed to fix matters, but then, nearly a year later, I was working 80-90 hours a week between the two jobs and, during an easy pull (bringing in scenery on the counter-weight system), my wrist was just suddenly agonizing. I taped it immediately and then added more tape and more tape. It helped, but not nearly enough. I added my wrist brace over my tape and that seemed to help.
I couldn't do anything without that brace. I slept in it, I worked at Starbucks in it, and when at the theatre, I taped, used a sleeve, and a brace. I started developing problems with my right shoulder because I was trying to compensate for my pain and limited mobility. I'm fairly certain, that if I hadn't found a solution, in relatively short-order, I would have torn my rotator cuff, this time in my right shoulder. It was affecting my work enough that my co-workers were starting to worry about me. Completely honestly, the pain and repetitive strain on my wrist and shoulder is why I quite Starbucks. Like my shoulder, the pain was chronic enough and severe enough that I was worried this injury wouldn't heal on its own. I went back to my orthopedist and he sent me off to do a nerve conduction study, thinking it was still a strange version of carpal tunnel. I doubted his diagnosis (surprise), having done a little research, but off I went.
The study revealed I had moderate carpal tunnel, but not enough to account for my pain. When I went back to my orthopedist I finally convinced him to focus on the ulnar side of my arm, where the pain was (as opposed to the radial side, where carpal tunnel usually manifests). He realized I had a major tear (I could stick my index finger in the gap between my carpals and metacarpals, one of the tendons was basically severed) in my TFCC (triangular fibrocartilage complex) and gave me a cortisone injection in the joint. For two days, my wrist was virtually unusable (I also had the flu that weekend, so I was just completely miserable), but after that, my wrist clearly started to heal and now it's completely better (I thoroughly appreciate ligaments and tendon that can heal, even when basically severed).
The wrist injury was November to February. In April, I broke my pinkie finger while moving a set piece. The stupid actor I was working with knocked a heavy ship's steering wheel off the piece and it fell on my pinkie. I didn't hear anything break, but I looked down and saw it was crooked. I straightened it, threw on a pair of gloves, and finished my last six curtain pulls of the night (unfortunately, I was literally the only person who could do them). The pain didn't really kick in until the curtain pulls, I think it was entirely shock up until that point. Again, I'm an idiot, and didn't go to the doctor. Ultimately, they wouldn't have done anything for me that I hadn't already done. I splinted it, iced it, took pain meds, and drove myself home. When I injured my left hand later in the year, xrays confirmed that I'd broken my pinkie. I don't really regret my actions too badly. My pinkie bends and straightens normally, with only slight stiffness, which is increasingly less.
I got through my entire next show without an injury (two minor pulled muscles, but those hardly count), which is fairly amazing because I've never worked so hard in my entire life. It was the show that I was assistant stage managing (my first actor's equity contract), where I almost lost the tips of two of my fingers. I came into rehearsal and started my usual prep, I needed to make coffee, hot water, make copies, and fill up the water pitcher. Someone had propped one of the heavy 4'x8', metal framed windows open with our water pitcher. I went to reclaim it, vaguely wary of the window, having dealt with them before in the other rehearsal room. Well, in the other rehearsal room, they don't just slam shut when unpropped. This window did. I went to hold the window up with my right hand and take out the water pitcher with my dominant left hand. As I'm sure you've guessed, the metal window slammed against the metal frame, and caught my left index and middle finger. I'd had time enough to pull them back a little (probably what saved them), but not enough. I remember yelling wordlessly, not because it did hurt, but because I knew it was supposed to. I stood there for a second, clutching my fingers, instinctively applying pressure before I even realized I was bleeding.
I think I scared my stage manager and director more than I scared myself. My director was screaming "Oh my god, are you alright?! Are you alright!?!"
I remember managing something like, "I think I'll be okay. I just need a second." It was then that I looked down at my finger and realized that no, I really thoroughly was not alright. Blood was all over me, mostly contained by my right hand which was still applying pressure. I ran to the bathroom, going through the stage management office, to alert the sm, to get there. The stage manager and director followed me from a distance, completely shocked and unsure what to do. I got to the bathroom, grabbed paper towels and clamped down on my fingers as hard as I could. At this point the full pain had kicked in. As it turns out, when I'm in that severe and acute of pain, I cry. I can't help it. It's like getting hit in the face with a soccer or volleyball and your eyes start to water. Except in this case it was more than watering. Having dealt with a hand injury before, I knew that I would probably pass out if I stayed standing, so I knelt by the sink, so the blood that seeped through the towels would only get in it and not on the floor.
The stage manager called my mom, who immediately knew something was wrong when my voice wasn't the one she heard at the end of the phone. After a few minutes, I had the bleeding stopped mostly and was able to talk to my mom. I remember my voice shaking and hating it, but not being able to stop it (much like the crying). I tried to wrap gauze around my fingers to bind the paper towels in place, failed miserably, and the stage manager finally had the presence of mind to help me. The director had gone off in search of our boss, who wasn't on the premise, and when he came back I informed them that I needed to go to urgent care and he took me. I has prepared to drive myself. I would have done it and I'm fairly convinced I would have been okay, but it was smarter that he took me.
I had the world's worst receptionist, who tried to make me fill out L&I paperwork with my non-dominant hand while in the the worst pain I'd ever experienced (which was saying something). Needless to say, it didn't work out so well. I finally dictated to the director what needed to be written. While he was filling out the rest of the paperwork I was called back and had a nurse look over my fingers. Now, understand, the pain was radiating, it was extremely hard to tell which fingers exactly were affected. I'd wrapped the index, middle, and ring fingers; turns out the ring finger only had a minor bruise.
But, when I got in there my conversation with the nurse went something like this: Her: "Nice wrap job...." (extreme sarcasm I will swear to the death I did not imagine). Me: "Well I had to stop the bleeding and it's what I had on hand!" Her: "Well it works I guess. What fingers are hurt?" Me: "I don't know. It's hard to tell. The index and middle fingers. Maybe the ring." Her: "Have you have a tetanus shot in the last seven years?" Me: "I don't remember." Her: "Well I need you to remember." Me: "I'm not in the best condition to remember much right now, I'm sorry." Her: "Well I don't care what kind of condition you're in. I need you to remember." Me: "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't. Just give me the tetanus shot."
The dull ache of the tetanus shot reminded me that I'd had a shot five years previously, but oh well, no harm done. In retrospect, I should have had them do the tetanus shot in my left arm, even though it was dominant, because it's not like I was going to be using my left hand any time soon. Luckily that nurse left at that point and didn't come back. My mom showed up and they gave me some numbing gel, which helped some. Then they gave me pain pills, which I swallowed dry, because I was too impatient for them to fetch water. They took an xray and shockingly, nothing was broken. They cleaned the deep cuts on both sides of my index finger, which (aside from the cut itself) was the most painful procedure that I experienced that day.
On my index finger, I had a cut that ran to the bone on my palm side and a cut running parallel to the other one, almost to the bone on the back of my hand. As the doctor told me, I was extremely lucky that I didn't lose the tip of my finger, which would have been awful, because it would have sliced diagonally through the joint. I got five stitches on the palm side of my index finger. She would have stitched the back of my index finger too, but there wasn't enough skin to work with. My middle finger was more crushed than cut. I had a very shallow cut, but more painful was the blood blister that formed under the nail. The doctor burned a whole through the nail and let the fluid drain, which also immediately relieved the pain.
It's been almost two months now and my fingers are mostly healed. I had bad damage to the nail matrices of both fingers, so the nails are growing out a little weirdly. Surprisingly, the cuts to my index fingers barely have visible scars. There is a lot of scar tissue present that I'm trying to loosen as time goes by. But unless something strikes the scar just right, there's pretty much no pain anymore.
So why all these stories? I don't know, really. The other day at costco I saw a mother just wailing because her small son had fallen and skinned his nose. At first the little boy wasn't even crying, but as his mother flipped out, he got more and more frightened and was shortly inconsolable. It mostly reminded me how some people just freak out over minor injuries, and I guess it makes sense. If you've never had an injury, if you've never had sports medicine or first aid training, then I guess it makes sense why you might freak out.
I tend to underplay my injuries and pain, not really because I'm trying to be macho, but mainly just because I need other people not to freak out. I function well while in pain, but I frequently still need help from other people. And also because I have an extremely high pain-threshold (in case you haven't noticed). This is helped immensely by the fact that I don't swell almost ever. I get some heat in my injuries sometimes, but not always. No swelling means I heal quickly and much of the pain people feel is caused by the inflammation in the injury. I think it's part of the reason that my fingers were so shockingly painful, because I got the full brunt of the nerve damage and actually injury, inflammation didn't really play into the picture. So, coming from this perspective, it's fascinating to watch and help people with their injuries (and from treating all my own, I'm pretty decent at treating injuries).
I don't think of myself as clumsy, though probably more careless than necessary would be accurate. I have had a lot of injuries...10+ sprained ankles, so so many pulled muscles, pulled hamstring +2, pulled quads +2 (in a different category because hamstring and the like are more debilitating), pulled gluts, pulled hip-flexor, countless jammed fingers (every joint at least once), 5+ sprained wrists, rotator cuff tear, impingement, labrum tear, bursitis, tendon and ligament instability, torn ulnar tendon, torn MCL, cracked ribs, broken pinkie, severely cut and crushed fingers....yeah...we'll go with careless.
I've been injured fairly seriously twice in the past year. I tore a tendon in my wrist and I nearly decapitated two of my fingers on my left hand. Oh, and now that I think about it, I broke the pinkie on my left hand (in an entirely separate accident). Physical pain is almost trivial at this point, I practically forgot that I broke a bone. Which is not to say that I've broken many bones, but over the course of my relatively short life, I've actually had a lot of physically painful injuries.
When I was younger I sprained my left ankle three times in one summer and my right ankle twice. I was out for less than a week for sports each time. I iced, took advil, taped my ankle and was back a few days later. That's just how I handled pain, even from a young age. I think I was eleven that summer. I did end up wearing ankle braces for several years after that while playing soccer, because my ankles were weak, but it wasn't a big deal.
I think my first truly serious injury, at least in my mind, was I had a second degree tear of my right MCL, which is the medial ligament in your knee. I was a freshman in high school and playing on both junior varsity and varsity for volleyball. During practice with JV, I went up for a block and the middle hitter on the other side of the net went up to joust with me . As we came down, she came under the net and bumped into me. I landed on the heel of my right leg, which hyper-extended and twisted, tearing my MCL. I went to the trainer, she told me the probable diagnosis, gave me some ice, and wrapped my knee. I think I was one crutches for a day, maybe two. It was my first and only time on crutches. I wore a borrowed brace that entire time.
It took me nearly two weeks to recover. Never in my life had I sat out for so long. In fact, I think that's the only time I ever just couldn't practice. The pain was always completely manageable, but what scared be was the instability in my leg. I would sometimes just take a step and, even with a brace, my knee would start to buckle and hyper-extend. To this day, that tendon still gets sore in I spend too much time in a position where my knees are bowing in (for instance focusing lights in box booms).
Playing club volleyball that winter, I cracked ribs on the right side of my body. I dove, got the ball up, but landed too hard on my ribs. I didn't hear them crack the first time, but even breathing was painful. I, being the stubborn idiot I am, never even missed a play that day. The last vestige of pain from the injury I remember being fall of my senior year. I re-cracked them at least twice. I know at the Reno National Qualifier I re-cracked them. They were almost healed, but then, sophomore year, shortly before I injured my shoulder, I was passing a ball and the teammate in front of me reached back to play a ball that wasn't hers. Her fist went right into my ribs and that time, I actually did hear them crack. I think that was the only time I ever swore on the court or field (not that I think anything of swearing these days).
I have an entire post devoted to my shoulder injury. But in short, during practice my sophomore year of high school, I came down from a block and then my teammate came down after me and her elbow collided with my collarbone. I ended up with impingement from that immediate encounter (which again, the trainer at my school diagnosed correctly (it took orthopedists 5 years to believe me)). I think my grandparents were the only ones who realized quite how chronic my pain was. There were times when I couldn't jump serve, particularly after a long tournament, it was just too painful. I abused advil to no end. I think at it's worst, I was taking five advil to cut the pain. I switched to another pain killer and still couldn't get a doctor to believe that I was in pain from a serious problem.
By the time I convinced an orthopedist I wasn't faking, I had not only impingement, but bursitis, a torn labrum, a 33% tear of my rotator cuff, and multi-direction instability in my tendons, meaning they had to shorten them all. I was in a sling for two months and then not even close to recovered until two months after that. I am daily thankful that the surgery fixed everything. I knew I was in constant, chronic, relatively severe pain, but I didn't realize what a drain it had been on me till it was gone.
From there, I didn't have any injuries for quite awhile. Stage management isn't exactly the most dangerous profession. A few months after I started at Starbucks, I developed carpal tunnel. It wasn't painful at all, but my hands went numb, which is mildly terrifying when serving boiling beverages to people. I got a brace and that seemed to fix matters, but then, nearly a year later, I was working 80-90 hours a week between the two jobs and, during an easy pull (bringing in scenery on the counter-weight system), my wrist was just suddenly agonizing. I taped it immediately and then added more tape and more tape. It helped, but not nearly enough. I added my wrist brace over my tape and that seemed to help.
I couldn't do anything without that brace. I slept in it, I worked at Starbucks in it, and when at the theatre, I taped, used a sleeve, and a brace. I started developing problems with my right shoulder because I was trying to compensate for my pain and limited mobility. I'm fairly certain, that if I hadn't found a solution, in relatively short-order, I would have torn my rotator cuff, this time in my right shoulder. It was affecting my work enough that my co-workers were starting to worry about me. Completely honestly, the pain and repetitive strain on my wrist and shoulder is why I quite Starbucks. Like my shoulder, the pain was chronic enough and severe enough that I was worried this injury wouldn't heal on its own. I went back to my orthopedist and he sent me off to do a nerve conduction study, thinking it was still a strange version of carpal tunnel. I doubted his diagnosis (surprise), having done a little research, but off I went.
The study revealed I had moderate carpal tunnel, but not enough to account for my pain. When I went back to my orthopedist I finally convinced him to focus on the ulnar side of my arm, where the pain was (as opposed to the radial side, where carpal tunnel usually manifests). He realized I had a major tear (I could stick my index finger in the gap between my carpals and metacarpals, one of the tendons was basically severed) in my TFCC (triangular fibrocartilage complex) and gave me a cortisone injection in the joint. For two days, my wrist was virtually unusable (I also had the flu that weekend, so I was just completely miserable), but after that, my wrist clearly started to heal and now it's completely better (I thoroughly appreciate ligaments and tendon that can heal, even when basically severed).
The wrist injury was November to February. In April, I broke my pinkie finger while moving a set piece. The stupid actor I was working with knocked a heavy ship's steering wheel off the piece and it fell on my pinkie. I didn't hear anything break, but I looked down and saw it was crooked. I straightened it, threw on a pair of gloves, and finished my last six curtain pulls of the night (unfortunately, I was literally the only person who could do them). The pain didn't really kick in until the curtain pulls, I think it was entirely shock up until that point. Again, I'm an idiot, and didn't go to the doctor. Ultimately, they wouldn't have done anything for me that I hadn't already done. I splinted it, iced it, took pain meds, and drove myself home. When I injured my left hand later in the year, xrays confirmed that I'd broken my pinkie. I don't really regret my actions too badly. My pinkie bends and straightens normally, with only slight stiffness, which is increasingly less.
I got through my entire next show without an injury (two minor pulled muscles, but those hardly count), which is fairly amazing because I've never worked so hard in my entire life. It was the show that I was assistant stage managing (my first actor's equity contract), where I almost lost the tips of two of my fingers. I came into rehearsal and started my usual prep, I needed to make coffee, hot water, make copies, and fill up the water pitcher. Someone had propped one of the heavy 4'x8', metal framed windows open with our water pitcher. I went to reclaim it, vaguely wary of the window, having dealt with them before in the other rehearsal room. Well, in the other rehearsal room, they don't just slam shut when unpropped. This window did. I went to hold the window up with my right hand and take out the water pitcher with my dominant left hand. As I'm sure you've guessed, the metal window slammed against the metal frame, and caught my left index and middle finger. I'd had time enough to pull them back a little (probably what saved them), but not enough. I remember yelling wordlessly, not because it did hurt, but because I knew it was supposed to. I stood there for a second, clutching my fingers, instinctively applying pressure before I even realized I was bleeding.
I think I scared my stage manager and director more than I scared myself. My director was screaming "Oh my god, are you alright?! Are you alright!?!"
I remember managing something like, "I think I'll be okay. I just need a second." It was then that I looked down at my finger and realized that no, I really thoroughly was not alright. Blood was all over me, mostly contained by my right hand which was still applying pressure. I ran to the bathroom, going through the stage management office, to alert the sm, to get there. The stage manager and director followed me from a distance, completely shocked and unsure what to do. I got to the bathroom, grabbed paper towels and clamped down on my fingers as hard as I could. At this point the full pain had kicked in. As it turns out, when I'm in that severe and acute of pain, I cry. I can't help it. It's like getting hit in the face with a soccer or volleyball and your eyes start to water. Except in this case it was more than watering. Having dealt with a hand injury before, I knew that I would probably pass out if I stayed standing, so I knelt by the sink, so the blood that seeped through the towels would only get in it and not on the floor.
The stage manager called my mom, who immediately knew something was wrong when my voice wasn't the one she heard at the end of the phone. After a few minutes, I had the bleeding stopped mostly and was able to talk to my mom. I remember my voice shaking and hating it, but not being able to stop it (much like the crying). I tried to wrap gauze around my fingers to bind the paper towels in place, failed miserably, and the stage manager finally had the presence of mind to help me. The director had gone off in search of our boss, who wasn't on the premise, and when he came back I informed them that I needed to go to urgent care and he took me. I has prepared to drive myself. I would have done it and I'm fairly convinced I would have been okay, but it was smarter that he took me.
I had the world's worst receptionist, who tried to make me fill out L&I paperwork with my non-dominant hand while in the the worst pain I'd ever experienced (which was saying something). Needless to say, it didn't work out so well. I finally dictated to the director what needed to be written. While he was filling out the rest of the paperwork I was called back and had a nurse look over my fingers. Now, understand, the pain was radiating, it was extremely hard to tell which fingers exactly were affected. I'd wrapped the index, middle, and ring fingers; turns out the ring finger only had a minor bruise.
But, when I got in there my conversation with the nurse went something like this: Her: "Nice wrap job...." (extreme sarcasm I will swear to the death I did not imagine). Me: "Well I had to stop the bleeding and it's what I had on hand!" Her: "Well it works I guess. What fingers are hurt?" Me: "I don't know. It's hard to tell. The index and middle fingers. Maybe the ring." Her: "Have you have a tetanus shot in the last seven years?" Me: "I don't remember." Her: "Well I need you to remember." Me: "I'm not in the best condition to remember much right now, I'm sorry." Her: "Well I don't care what kind of condition you're in. I need you to remember." Me: "Look, I'm sorry, but I don't. Just give me the tetanus shot."
The dull ache of the tetanus shot reminded me that I'd had a shot five years previously, but oh well, no harm done. In retrospect, I should have had them do the tetanus shot in my left arm, even though it was dominant, because it's not like I was going to be using my left hand any time soon. Luckily that nurse left at that point and didn't come back. My mom showed up and they gave me some numbing gel, which helped some. Then they gave me pain pills, which I swallowed dry, because I was too impatient for them to fetch water. They took an xray and shockingly, nothing was broken. They cleaned the deep cuts on both sides of my index finger, which (aside from the cut itself) was the most painful procedure that I experienced that day.
On my index finger, I had a cut that ran to the bone on my palm side and a cut running parallel to the other one, almost to the bone on the back of my hand. As the doctor told me, I was extremely lucky that I didn't lose the tip of my finger, which would have been awful, because it would have sliced diagonally through the joint. I got five stitches on the palm side of my index finger. She would have stitched the back of my index finger too, but there wasn't enough skin to work with. My middle finger was more crushed than cut. I had a very shallow cut, but more painful was the blood blister that formed under the nail. The doctor burned a whole through the nail and let the fluid drain, which also immediately relieved the pain.
It's been almost two months now and my fingers are mostly healed. I had bad damage to the nail matrices of both fingers, so the nails are growing out a little weirdly. Surprisingly, the cuts to my index fingers barely have visible scars. There is a lot of scar tissue present that I'm trying to loosen as time goes by. But unless something strikes the scar just right, there's pretty much no pain anymore.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
So why all these stories? I don't know, really. The other day at costco I saw a mother just wailing because her small son had fallen and skinned his nose. At first the little boy wasn't even crying, but as his mother flipped out, he got more and more frightened and was shortly inconsolable. It mostly reminded me how some people just freak out over minor injuries, and I guess it makes sense. If you've never had an injury, if you've never had sports medicine or first aid training, then I guess it makes sense why you might freak out.
I tend to underplay my injuries and pain, not really because I'm trying to be macho, but mainly just because I need other people not to freak out. I function well while in pain, but I frequently still need help from other people. And also because I have an extremely high pain-threshold (in case you haven't noticed). This is helped immensely by the fact that I don't swell almost ever. I get some heat in my injuries sometimes, but not always. No swelling means I heal quickly and much of the pain people feel is caused by the inflammation in the injury. I think it's part of the reason that my fingers were so shockingly painful, because I got the full brunt of the nerve damage and actually injury, inflammation didn't really play into the picture. So, coming from this perspective, it's fascinating to watch and help people with their injuries (and from treating all my own, I'm pretty decent at treating injuries).
I don't think of myself as clumsy, though probably more careless than necessary would be accurate. I have had a lot of injuries...10+ sprained ankles, so so many pulled muscles, pulled hamstring +2, pulled quads +2 (in a different category because hamstring and the like are more debilitating), pulled gluts, pulled hip-flexor, countless jammed fingers (every joint at least once), 5+ sprained wrists, rotator cuff tear, impingement, labrum tear, bursitis, tendon and ligament instability, torn ulnar tendon, torn MCL, cracked ribs, broken pinkie, severely cut and crushed fingers....yeah...we'll go with careless.
Monday, September 29, 2014
How do I move on?
I wish I could stop crying. It's not every day anymore, but that's mainly only because I've learned how to keep myself so busy that I don't have time to think. Well, I've had time to think today, and as it normally does, that's led to tears and a break down.
I have never felt so trapped in my life. The advice you always hear is: talk to them. Well fine, yes, that's all very good, but what about when talking is more destructive than constructive? What about when you go to someone, put yourself on the line, and say: "I'm hurting", "I'm broken", "I don't know how to function anymore". And they tell you: "you're overreacting", "you're taking it too hard", "it's not that big of a deal", "just move on", "you shouldn't be feeling x". Well yes! In an ideal world, I'd accept this all and just walk away! Don't you think I want to? If I could move on with my life, I would. If I knew how, I would. But I don't know how! And worse, I don't know how to get to that point.
I don't know what I did. I genuinely don't. We used to get along. And now we don't. We didn't drift apart. That I understand. That, I've been through before. That's not what this is though. "What did I do to bring this on?" I don't understand! I've asked and asked, in those exact words, but I've literally been told: "you didn't do anything". If I didn't do anything, then why am I being treated differently? If I did do something wrong, why didn't you just tell me so I could fix it? So what if I'm upset? How is that even relevant to me needing to know the information so I can become a better person?
I need comfort. I just want to be held and reassured. Maybe I shouldn't need reassurance. If you're secure, you're not supposed to need it, right? But I do. I don't care if I'm not supposed to, I do! I need people Life is too lonely without them. I need people to care and hug me and tell me it's alright, they love me. Why is that wrong?! Why is needing other people wrong? And why are people going to tell me: it's wrong to need reassurance instead of hugging me and telling me it's alright. How does that reaction help anyone?
So what do I do? I've tried to talk to them. I honestly have. I can't be the one who reaches out anymore. It's killing me. So I walk away. But how do I do that? I don't know how to walk away. I have a deep need to understand my life. And I don't. If I understood, I could walk away, would know how to walk away. But I don't understand. And the understanding doesn't seem to be forthcoming. Every time I try to talk to someone, every time I try to put myself on the line even once more, some how I never come away with more information. And afterwards, every time, I break down a little more. I need to understand what I did. I need to understand so that I can get better and be a better person, so this never happens again.
Maybe I was too reliant on you. Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it was codependent. I don't know! But loving people isn't wrong. It isn't! And being hurt when someone you love no longer seems to care for you isn't unreasonable. I'm hurt. I'm broken. And I just need a friend to throw me a lifeline and say: "I do care about you, despite everything, I do care about you."
I have never felt so trapped in my life. The advice you always hear is: talk to them. Well fine, yes, that's all very good, but what about when talking is more destructive than constructive? What about when you go to someone, put yourself on the line, and say: "I'm hurting", "I'm broken", "I don't know how to function anymore". And they tell you: "you're overreacting", "you're taking it too hard", "it's not that big of a deal", "just move on", "you shouldn't be feeling x". Well yes! In an ideal world, I'd accept this all and just walk away! Don't you think I want to? If I could move on with my life, I would. If I knew how, I would. But I don't know how! And worse, I don't know how to get to that point.
I don't know what I did. I genuinely don't. We used to get along. And now we don't. We didn't drift apart. That I understand. That, I've been through before. That's not what this is though. "What did I do to bring this on?" I don't understand! I've asked and asked, in those exact words, but I've literally been told: "you didn't do anything". If I didn't do anything, then why am I being treated differently? If I did do something wrong, why didn't you just tell me so I could fix it? So what if I'm upset? How is that even relevant to me needing to know the information so I can become a better person?
I need comfort. I just want to be held and reassured. Maybe I shouldn't need reassurance. If you're secure, you're not supposed to need it, right? But I do. I don't care if I'm not supposed to, I do! I need people Life is too lonely without them. I need people to care and hug me and tell me it's alright, they love me. Why is that wrong?! Why is needing other people wrong? And why are people going to tell me: it's wrong to need reassurance instead of hugging me and telling me it's alright. How does that reaction help anyone?
So what do I do? I've tried to talk to them. I honestly have. I can't be the one who reaches out anymore. It's killing me. So I walk away. But how do I do that? I don't know how to walk away. I have a deep need to understand my life. And I don't. If I understood, I could walk away, would know how to walk away. But I don't understand. And the understanding doesn't seem to be forthcoming. Every time I try to talk to someone, every time I try to put myself on the line even once more, some how I never come away with more information. And afterwards, every time, I break down a little more. I need to understand what I did. I need to understand so that I can get better and be a better person, so this never happens again.
Maybe I was too reliant on you. Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it was codependent. I don't know! But loving people isn't wrong. It isn't! And being hurt when someone you love no longer seems to care for you isn't unreasonable. I'm hurt. I'm broken. And I just need a friend to throw me a lifeline and say: "I do care about you, despite everything, I do care about you."
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
Shoulder to Lean On
It's been a very long time. Looking at my last post, it's been almost exactly a year. A lot has happened in that year. More than I can possibly get into now (and more than I am possibly ready to deal with emotionally).
Professionally, I have learned more in the past year than in any other year I can recall. I don't think I could ask for better coworkers. And oh, the stories I could tell. I've reached the point in my career where I should probably stop sharing them indiscriminately with the internet for fear of compromising the theatre I'm working at however (that isn't to say that I might not post some carefully edited ones later if I feel like it).
I'm not sure if I'm actually going to return to blogging or not. It's an amazing outlet, but there's a lot that I'm not in a head-space that I can deal with right now. That being said, I recently had a set of experiences that made me think of why I started blogging in the first place.
It's been a rough couple months. I hesitate to call them the roughest months in my life, but that very hesitation really informs me how difficult they've been. Recently, one of my coworkers (let's go with Jed for a pseudonym) and I have gotten to chatting. During my latest show things went from: let's exchange hilarious and sometimes terrifying theatre stories for hours, to: let's talk about literally anything for hours. I talked about my whole mess and he talked about his. And I found that sometimes there is just that selfish relief of: Oh thank god, I'm not the only one with baggage.
But one day we were on our dinner break and Jed casually mentioned being poly and I remember my mind just stopping, while my mouth went on talking like he hadn't just given me deeply personal details as though they meant nothing. I've never met someone who has told me they were poly, let alone one who used that exact terminology. And so, in a similar manner I said something along the lines of: "oh, yeah me too" and we moved on with the conversation. It was certainly the most casually I've told someone that particular piece of information.
But later that night I somehow managed to plunge myself into a world that I desperately want, but is so far outside my experience that I had trouble finding my balance. Jed's ex-wife had come to see the show and then invited both of us over to her house afterward for tea and dessert. When I showed up, her babysitter (she has a son under a year old) was just leaving. She kissed her babysitter on both cheeks, the lips, grabbed his ass, and he went on his way. Jed commented something about him being one of his ex's boyfriends.
So I sat on the couch with them and chatted, while the baby sat on her lap and waved his arms happily and threw toys for the dog. She's a lovely person and the most openly affectionate I've ever seen. And despite their history, there was an ease between Jed and his ex, I'm not sure I've ever seen. It was all incredibley surreal. After I finished the tea, I headed home, head spinning. My night certainly wasn't a picture I had ever envisioned existing as a child, but what struck me was how thoroughly normal the three people treated the situation. The next day, I met Jed's girlfriend, also a lovely woman.
There's a lot to the story I just can't tell, because it's just not my story, but I can tell you that I sat and talked with Jed for a half hour after the next night's show about his relationships and about how he'd realized he was poly and about the various relationships he'd had. If truth be told, I kept my family waiting while I talked to him. I shouldn't have, but what he had to say was something that I needed to hear. I know rationally, that there are other people who identify as poly, but I guess since I'd never actually met one, it didn't really compute until this week.
Being poly hasn't really played into my life recently. I'm aware that there are frequently many people I'm attracted to, but since I haven't pursued any of them, it's almost been irrelevant. I didn't expect having someone to talk to with actual experience in the matter to make such a huge difference.
I wish I could say more, because I've truncated this story rather severely, but it's a relief to finally have someone to talk to who's speaking from personal experience.
Professionally, I have learned more in the past year than in any other year I can recall. I don't think I could ask for better coworkers. And oh, the stories I could tell. I've reached the point in my career where I should probably stop sharing them indiscriminately with the internet for fear of compromising the theatre I'm working at however (that isn't to say that I might not post some carefully edited ones later if I feel like it).
I'm not sure if I'm actually going to return to blogging or not. It's an amazing outlet, but there's a lot that I'm not in a head-space that I can deal with right now. That being said, I recently had a set of experiences that made me think of why I started blogging in the first place.
It's been a rough couple months. I hesitate to call them the roughest months in my life, but that very hesitation really informs me how difficult they've been. Recently, one of my coworkers (let's go with Jed for a pseudonym) and I have gotten to chatting. During my latest show things went from: let's exchange hilarious and sometimes terrifying theatre stories for hours, to: let's talk about literally anything for hours. I talked about my whole mess and he talked about his. And I found that sometimes there is just that selfish relief of: Oh thank god, I'm not the only one with baggage.
But one day we were on our dinner break and Jed casually mentioned being poly and I remember my mind just stopping, while my mouth went on talking like he hadn't just given me deeply personal details as though they meant nothing. I've never met someone who has told me they were poly, let alone one who used that exact terminology. And so, in a similar manner I said something along the lines of: "oh, yeah me too" and we moved on with the conversation. It was certainly the most casually I've told someone that particular piece of information.
But later that night I somehow managed to plunge myself into a world that I desperately want, but is so far outside my experience that I had trouble finding my balance. Jed's ex-wife had come to see the show and then invited both of us over to her house afterward for tea and dessert. When I showed up, her babysitter (she has a son under a year old) was just leaving. She kissed her babysitter on both cheeks, the lips, grabbed his ass, and he went on his way. Jed commented something about him being one of his ex's boyfriends.
So I sat on the couch with them and chatted, while the baby sat on her lap and waved his arms happily and threw toys for the dog. She's a lovely person and the most openly affectionate I've ever seen. And despite their history, there was an ease between Jed and his ex, I'm not sure I've ever seen. It was all incredibley surreal. After I finished the tea, I headed home, head spinning. My night certainly wasn't a picture I had ever envisioned existing as a child, but what struck me was how thoroughly normal the three people treated the situation. The next day, I met Jed's girlfriend, also a lovely woman.
There's a lot to the story I just can't tell, because it's just not my story, but I can tell you that I sat and talked with Jed for a half hour after the next night's show about his relationships and about how he'd realized he was poly and about the various relationships he'd had. If truth be told, I kept my family waiting while I talked to him. I shouldn't have, but what he had to say was something that I needed to hear. I know rationally, that there are other people who identify as poly, but I guess since I'd never actually met one, it didn't really compute until this week.
Being poly hasn't really played into my life recently. I'm aware that there are frequently many people I'm attracted to, but since I haven't pursued any of them, it's almost been irrelevant. I didn't expect having someone to talk to with actual experience in the matter to make such a huge difference.
I wish I could say more, because I've truncated this story rather severely, but it's a relief to finally have someone to talk to who's speaking from personal experience.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Adult v. Child Actors
When I tell people I work primarily (though this will be changing shortly) with child actors the reaction I get is: oh that must really difficult. My general response is: no, it's not really that much different than working with adult actors.
I've always sorta sad that flippantly, as a general statement about general actor. Well, on my last show I worked with adult actors for the first time in close to two years and I realized how accurate that statement is. I work with children a lot and as such get to know many of them quite well, and what has always struck me is how similar they are to adults.
They want respect, they want success, they want reinforcement. And this is true of every actor and of every person I have ever met. Perhaps the children are more insecure, but in my experience, that isn't always the case. Perhaps the children are less intuitive, but this isn't always the case.
Part of the matter is that I generally with older children who are very serious about pursuing acting professionally. That type of drive transforms anyone. I have always had a belief that adults as a whole underestimate children. Perhaps that was because as I child I wanted nothing more than to be taken seriously and treated equally with adults.
I have always found that if you lay your expectations out clearly for people than they will generally do their damnedest to meet those expectations. In the case of actors (backstage) I expect that they stay out of the way, not be in the wings when they aren't needed, stay quiet backstage, perform all set changes that they participate in, and to inform the correct people if something is wrong. These are fairly simple and straightforward and I've found that I get along with actors splendidly if we both work together on those goals.
I didn't really expect this post to turn into a talk on expectations. I really did intend for it to be a comparison of young/child actors with adult/professional actors. I suppose, what I discovered is, at the most basic level, the only difference is their age.
I've always sorta sad that flippantly, as a general statement about general actor. Well, on my last show I worked with adult actors for the first time in close to two years and I realized how accurate that statement is. I work with children a lot and as such get to know many of them quite well, and what has always struck me is how similar they are to adults.
They want respect, they want success, they want reinforcement. And this is true of every actor and of every person I have ever met. Perhaps the children are more insecure, but in my experience, that isn't always the case. Perhaps the children are less intuitive, but this isn't always the case.
Part of the matter is that I generally with older children who are very serious about pursuing acting professionally. That type of drive transforms anyone. I have always had a belief that adults as a whole underestimate children. Perhaps that was because as I child I wanted nothing more than to be taken seriously and treated equally with adults.
I have always found that if you lay your expectations out clearly for people than they will generally do their damnedest to meet those expectations. In the case of actors (backstage) I expect that they stay out of the way, not be in the wings when they aren't needed, stay quiet backstage, perform all set changes that they participate in, and to inform the correct people if something is wrong. These are fairly simple and straightforward and I've found that I get along with actors splendidly if we both work together on those goals.
I didn't really expect this post to turn into a talk on expectations. I really did intend for it to be a comparison of young/child actors with adult/professional actors. I suppose, what I discovered is, at the most basic level, the only difference is their age.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
Assorted Stories from my Latest Shows
In my post about being burnt out I talked briefly about how I rescued an actor from being killed by a sandbag. Now for a myriad of other entertaining (I hope) stories.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The fourth day of tech I came in having already worked a six hour shift at Starbucks. It was my fourth eighteen hour day and so this is the setting for my story. About an hour before dinner one of the actors comes offstage and informs me that one of our very large riser units is hard to move. This wasn't the most trustworthy of actors and so I went to find another one who had proven himself to be slightly more reliable. He confirmed the first actor's story and so I took a look at it and first checked to see if the drop pin (essentially our braking system) was down. It wasn't. But one side of the unit did seem much closer to the ground. I informed my deck chief and he came over to take a look at it. He initially dismissed it as wear and tear, but I insisted and he too noted that one side was much much closer to the ground.
We took the side paneling off and he quickly discovered that the unit had completely failed and would not roll again if it couldn't have extensive repairs made to it. So we took it to the adjacent (small) shop and began major repairs that should have never been needed if the unit had been made correctly in the first place. The stage manager and I then pointed out that we would need to do the same with the second unit (there was a fair amount of cursing at that point that I'm cutting out). I spent the next forty-five minutes listen to my deck chief/master carpenter rant and rave about the whole situation (and really his whole reaction was well and truly earned).
So I walked down the street of the small city where my theatre was located, getting more and more agitated. As I walked, I bumped into my assistant choreographer, a close friend of mine, and I literally broke down and cried on his shoulder for a solid few minutes. I have never been in that state in my life nor would I ever want to again. But the major scenic center pieces of the show were eventually repaired and life did go on.
Oh and as the kicker, when we took the side paneling off of both riser units there were loose screws just hanging out inside.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The rest of my stories from that show aren't quite a coherent tale, but here's just a fun list of things I witnessed/was party to/dealt with:
- A forty year old dating a seventeen year old
- Two dogs onstage
- Set pieces that didn't actually fit in the space
- Confetti canons that never fucking worked (eventually we figured out a trick with the masking tape)
- Disappearing masking tape, spike tape, paint, paint brushes, batteries, and drills
- A crew member who had no business being backstage because he was a safety hazard (he was a bit slow, which is not a problem, unless you're working in a business where you or someone else could get killed if you're not quick on your feet)
- A teenage friend confessing relationship issues to me
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Oh wait, I do have one more story. I'd forgotten this one because it was the first day of tech. This crew member eventually quit. This was the conversation I had over wireless headset. As you'll see, I had already learned to be very specific with this particular crew member.
"Rachel, can you please move the stage right wall unit into stage right wing three with the red paneling facing down?"
*Silence*
"Rachel?"
"Who?"
"Rachel, can you please move the stage right wall unit into stage right wing three with the red paneling facing down?"
"What?"
"The stage right wall unit."
"Where?"
"Please move the stage right wall unit into stage right wing three, with the paneling facing down."
*Silence*
"Rachel?"
"Me?"
"Yes. You."
*Silence*
"Rachel?!"
"Now?"
That was literally the only time I have ever thrown anything in frustration (I threw my clipboard (funny thing was my boss was right there and he just laughed at me)). Luckily my deck chief took over from there. Just UGGH.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
This next story actually happened on my latest show two days ago. It involves a picture. Since the theatre I'm working in has no real fly (rigging) system to speak of the carpenters created an impromtu one for something called a kabuki drop. A kabuki drop is essentially a rig that holds something (in this case a sign) and then you press a button and it unfurls. Then you can press another button and it drops completely to the ground. The rigging system for the kabuki drop in this theatre looks like the picture below:
So the other day, what happened was that one of the three pick points on the kabuki drop (which is represented by the piece labeled scenery) came unattached from the counterweight (in this case a sandbag). So we got I got out a ladder and pulled the wire down from the ceiling and we reattached it to the sandbag. However, the wire was no longer the same length as the others, so I needed to adjust the length of the other wires. It was infinitely doable, but the stage manager told me to just let it be, so I did and we did the show without the kabuki drop.
That same night we got two-thirds of the way through the show and suddenly all three people on the crew realized that our headsets were too quiet. As it turns out we couldn't communicate with the stage manager, who was on wired clear com (headset). We were on wireless. We realized when a cue to close a curtain was supposed to happen, but didn't. Since the kabuki was cut for the night, I ran up to the booth and informed them what was wrong, but since the show is so busy for everyone involved, we couldn't actually fix it. So we did there rest of a very complicated show with no clear com (it went of smoothly, but dear god it was nerve-wracking).
The next day we came in and there were cables securing the sandbag to the wires of the rigging to keep them from coming apart, which is what had happened in the first place. It wasn't a clean or elegant solution but at least the idiot fixed it. So me, being the person I am, decided to test the rig after it had been fixed and before the show. Let me tell you, I have never been so glad of doing something. When I pressed the button for the sign to unfurl, one of the ropes securing the sign to the kabuki drop completely came untied and it swung on one rope like a drunken pendulum and would have hit whoever was below it. So I retied the knots, checked several other knots that were loose and tested it again. Since I did that, it's been working perfectly, thankfully.
If it had just been rigged properly in the first place it never would have been a problem. In case you actually care, the person who did this rigging was the same carpenter who built the riser units from my first story.
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