When people ask about your show, you tell them to come. You don’t know why you do this. That is the last thing you want.
The curtain ripples, but when you look, there is no one there.
They collect everyone’s cell phones before showtime. To avoid mic interference, they said. The show goes on and there is still mic feedback. You suspect your phone has been taken so you can’t call for help.
You’re asked to get something from the dusty basement prop shop. No fucking way, you say. No goddamn way in hell.
No matter how many makeups wipes you use, it won’t come off. It won’t come off. Your reflection is not your own.
They call five minutes until showtime. Everyone yells thank you five and then rushes for the bathroom. Why do we all wait until five to use the bathroom. Why do we do this to ourselves.
The pre-show rituals are arcane. They are cryptic and unholy. No one seems to notice.
There is sawdust in the scene shop. That makes sense. There is also sawdust on the mezzanine. That does not make sense.
One day, the turntable starts turning the other way. The cast performs the entire show backwards.
An actor speaks. A techie cries. These events always happen in succession but no one has made the connection yet.
The stage manager brings in a whole cardboard tray of Starbucks cups, but they do not share. All the coffee is for them.
“Cue one, go.” Nothing happens.
We are late for curtain time. We are always late for curtain time. The audience is disgruntled but powerless.