When I graduated theatre school I thought it was only a matter of time until my name was up in lights and people were making parodies of me. Drawing cartoons for the New Yorker, you know the things that optimistic young ingenues believe. That everything will come up roses. Well, needless to say things haven't turned out that way. And I should have seen it coming:
My first unionized-paying theatre gig was 2 months after my graduation. I was the 3rd person in my class to book a paying gig. And I was proud! Boy was I. I mean, by no means was I playing Cleopatra, but I was working in my chosen field; leading myself towards my dreams!*insert angelic choir. Okay, okay, I am making it sound way better than it was. I was getting paid $375/ week and no per diem to be in Stratford, while still paying rent in Toronto. With this in mind the production arranged for me to billet with a local family. Now to be fair; I needed to stay somewhere for free, and my billet family loved the theatre: it was a match made, in well, not quite heaven.
Having taken a bus from Toronto to Stratford, I was frazzled and my host family wasn't at home until after my first day of rehearsal. Trucking all my clothing for the 4 weeks of rehearsal and everything I thought I could possibly need including 3 books, a pillow and my almost as large as a desktop-laptop. The first day of rehearsal was tiring, and the combination of almost 4 hours bus travel to Stratford, a full 10 hour day of script breakdown and blocking, when I finally arrived at my billet's home- they were waiting at the door, excited to meet me. Then there was the complex introductions to Father, Mother, 2 kidlets, 1 golden retriever & 2 cats. I just wanted to go to bed, but being the polite and sociable person I am I accept their invitation to dinner; a four course meal with lots of starch.
Hours later when I was finally climbing into bed I was exhausted. Falling asleep almost immediately; all thoughts of reading dashed by the lack of bedside lamp. While drifting towards dreaming, I heard noises, strange noises. Something like a helicopter... Could that be right? I am in the basement of a Stratford family home; no where near a helipad. Then a screech. Like a bat or vampire disguised as a bat. Waking in a confused state, trying to remember where I am. Oh yeah, I am in a strange bedroom...Where is the light switch again? Feeling the nearby wall, I find it. Snapping the light on to reveal a disaster. Across the room standing in my suitcase is HouseCat 1- posed like a black Halloween cutout, yellow eyes wide with fear. Frozen in a tableau of confusion, we stare at each other. Then the helicopter sound and screech begins again. The helicopter is actually this possessed feline shooting pooh out of its bum and into my very full suitcase. The suitcase filled with my life! A spray of kitty diarrhea shooting into and over all my personal belongings. And just as suddenly as it began HouseCat 1 screeches one final time and vaults herself out of my suitcase, down the hall, and into the furnace room. Leaving me alone in a strange basement, in the middle of the night, starring into my litter box suitcase, wondering where to begin.
This is the strangest welcome wagon I've ever received. Needless to say, there was very little sleep that first night. Between rewashing all my laundry and waking the billets with concerns over their smallest family member, I was a wreck the next day for rehearsal. As far as omens go, this should have been a big black X, against my chosen career, but against all odds I've carried on this clearly glamours path. Come hell or flying kitty poo. The best lessons I learned: keep your suitcase zipped and off the floor and never snap on the light if you hear a helicopter in a stranger's basement.
My first unionized-paying theatre gig was 2 months after my graduation. I was the 3rd person in my class to book a paying gig. And I was proud! Boy was I. I mean, by no means was I playing Cleopatra, but I was working in my chosen field; leading myself towards my dreams!*insert angelic choir. Okay, okay, I am making it sound way better than it was. I was getting paid $375/ week and no per diem to be in Stratford, while still paying rent in Toronto. With this in mind the production arranged for me to billet with a local family. Now to be fair; I needed to stay somewhere for free, and my billet family loved the theatre: it was a match made, in well, not quite heaven.
Having taken a bus from Toronto to Stratford, I was frazzled and my host family wasn't at home until after my first day of rehearsal. Trucking all my clothing for the 4 weeks of rehearsal and everything I thought I could possibly need including 3 books, a pillow and my almost as large as a desktop-laptop. The first day of rehearsal was tiring, and the combination of almost 4 hours bus travel to Stratford, a full 10 hour day of script breakdown and blocking, when I finally arrived at my billet's home- they were waiting at the door, excited to meet me. Then there was the complex introductions to Father, Mother, 2 kidlets, 1 golden retriever & 2 cats. I just wanted to go to bed, but being the polite and sociable person I am I accept their invitation to dinner; a four course meal with lots of starch.
Hours later when I was finally climbing into bed I was exhausted. Falling asleep almost immediately; all thoughts of reading dashed by the lack of bedside lamp. While drifting towards dreaming, I heard noises, strange noises. Something like a helicopter... Could that be right? I am in the basement of a Stratford family home; no where near a helipad. Then a screech. Like a bat or vampire disguised as a bat. Waking in a confused state, trying to remember where I am. Oh yeah, I am in a strange bedroom...Where is the light switch again? Feeling the nearby wall, I find it. Snapping the light on to reveal a disaster. Across the room standing in my suitcase is HouseCat 1- posed like a black Halloween cutout, yellow eyes wide with fear. Frozen in a tableau of confusion, we stare at each other. Then the helicopter sound and screech begins again. The helicopter is actually this possessed feline shooting pooh out of its bum and into my very full suitcase. The suitcase filled with my life! A spray of kitty diarrhea shooting into and over all my personal belongings. And just as suddenly as it began HouseCat 1 screeches one final time and vaults herself out of my suitcase, down the hall, and into the furnace room. Leaving me alone in a strange basement, in the middle of the night, starring into my litter box suitcase, wondering where to begin.
This is the strangest welcome wagon I've ever received. Needless to say, there was very little sleep that first night. Between rewashing all my laundry and waking the billets with concerns over their smallest family member, I was a wreck the next day for rehearsal. As far as omens go, this should have been a big black X, against my chosen career, but against all odds I've carried on this clearly glamours path. Come hell or flying kitty poo. The best lessons I learned: keep your suitcase zipped and off the floor and never snap on the light if you hear a helicopter in a stranger's basement.
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