thediastema's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Closing Weekend '01: Conclusion CLOSING WEEKEND 2001, part II Dear Master, Saturday was the REAL SHENANIGAN day. Friday was in fact DRESS-UP day. Sorry about the mix-up. Nobody cares, right? Great. For those of you who've been following scrupulously along with a copy of the drinking game in hand, prepare for a dangerous turn of events: I was an hour late to work this afternoon. For those whose hearts are still beating, I overslept, plainly and simply. I got there well into pre-show and Al, Ginger and Betty all circled me. "O my God! Are you okay?! We were so scared!" It's the second time I've been late in the history of my career. People had worried themselves sick. Al also made a fatal mistake putting the coffee together, brewing 30 cups of water with 50 cups worth of regular in the decaf pot and vice versa in the regular one. This resulted, of course, in a small quantity of really strong regular coffee and a huge amount of really weak decaf. I really felt needed after all that. And that's why I'll go back in the fall. ~~ The four of us went to lunch at Souper!Salad during the break. He wasn't hungry, having eaten before work, but I bought Al a coke as thanks for covering my ushering shift on short notice. ~~ Stud and his girlfriend, this total peach named Alyson*, arrived for tonight's show and bought a coke to share. I asked if he'd be back next season. "I'm not sure yet," he grinned. "You HAVE to. Most of my favourites are leaving already!" ~~ And many are. My hunch is Stud and Four, everybody's favourite myopic towhead buddies, are both gonna leave upon that ferry boat, never to return again (return again). I'm not happy. I think if they go, in addition to Holly, Tasha, and Betty, the sure-thing girls, to say nothing of Cindy, whom we lost already and I miss dearly, it follows that I deserve the addition of Dave Foley to my staff. Maybe The Police, too, exactly as they looked in 1979. ~~ I dashed home after intermission and bathed and dressed again, this time full-assedly and in less of a rush. I went back to the theatre at 6 p.m. and punched in for the last time this season. I greeted some volunteer ushers. I went downstairs, where again I met the other three from this afternoon. We brewed coffee, stacked cookies, restocked candy inventory, went upstairs. Upstairs in The Cage were Holly, Molly and Dimples. Molly has been friendly the past few days. Tonight, as we surrounded a fake-marble coffee table in the lobby eating thin-crust pizza, we even made pretty good small talk as a group. Oddly enough, I was quiet. I looked at Carl*, one of our longtime resident ushers with whom I used to chat. He's old, widowed maybe, and he's been at the theatre since 1964. And now they're letting him go due to budget cuts. I gave him a hug. I gave Dimples a hug. I bid Holly farewell. (If I work marketing this summer, I'll see her there anyway.) I thought about a walk to the parking lot with Scott last year, his eyes wet from a little harmless lovesickness over a polite blond guy he'd probably never see again. Tonight I walked that walk alone. Betty pulled alongside me in her SUV, and we promised to be in touch. I made it to Hamilton before I started crying. Show's over, people. And next season, things will be a little different. I can feel it. ~ETK 1:00 - 27 May, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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