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Damn, my life is glamourous.
I knew from the get-go that tonight's dance gig was so poorly organized it could only be the stuff of legend. I received few communiqués. The phone calls I did receive always happened at 10:45 pm and were hurried things with little information.
So at 10:45 last night, I received another call. My ride was picking me up at 6 pm so we could do a sound/lighting check before the show at 7. I dance at 8. This was the first organized-sounding thing I'd heard. The cynic in me didn't believe it for a moment.
6:00 rolls around, and I'm ready to go. 6:15 rolls around. Then 6:25, 6:30.... At 6:50, I receive a phone call saying my ride is on its way, and she'll call again if she gets lost. At 7:00, I get a call from my ride, saying she's four blocks away, and will be right there. I tell her I'll meet her on the side of the street.
So I put my coat on and rush to the sidewalk. She's less than a five-minute walk away, so since she's driving, I'm expecting her right away.
A police car blocks the street around the corner, whirly-birds alit. I'm mildly curious, but not concerned. Ten minutes later, my ride is still not there, and I am concerned. I walk to the corner to see what's going on. I think maybe there's been a bad car accident. The entire block is cordoned off, with police cars and other emergency vehicles. I don't hear sirens, though. I wonder if the woman who's supposed to pick me up was involved in the car accident. I run back to my apartment and do the *69 thing, but since she's on a cell phone, it doesn't work. I go back downstairs and wait. At this point, I no longer care if I'm in the show or not. I figure that if something happened to my ride, the show will just have to go on without me.
At about 7:15, my ride finally shows up. She apologizes for the delay (which she doesn't explain), and then tells me she didn't even know she was supposed to pick anyone up until she was informed of such at 6. Oy. And she'd thought that maybe *I* was the one in the accident, and wondered if she should ask the police if a belly dancer was run over.
I get to the event. It's both sparsely attended and sparsely decorated. An inexperienced emcee is talking to the small audience (about sixty people, tops, and they all look bored). I go back to the change room and start getting into costume. It's 7:25. Someone comes and collects my CD from me, asking about any special things which need to be done. I tell her to play track one from the CD. I'll be dancing with candles, so the stage lights should be dimmed or turned off, and when I blow out the candles, the lights can go back on.
"No problem," she says, and runs off to the DJ with my cd.
I continue getting dressed, putting on my makeup in a room occupied by Highland, Colombian, and Ghana dancers. I'm just about to start warming up (my dance begins with heavy floorwork) when a man comes in and says, "Are you ready to go on?"
"Uhh, sure," I say. "Just let me light my candles." I look out at the stage and see it bare except for the stumbling, nervous, failing-miserably emcee. He's saying something like, "There's supposed to be a belly dancer. I don't know where she is. I guess you'll just have to listen to me. Uhh. She should be along any moment."
It's 7:40. I'm not supposed to be on for another twenty minutes.
I light both candles and walk to the stage as quickly as I can while mysteriously projecting a slow and serene glide. Figure that out, if you can. One of my candles blows out at the same time that I realize I'm still wearing my enormous dollar store black plastic digital watch. I shuck the watch and the burnt-out candle on a chair and take the stage.
I settle down to the floor to the mellifluous strains of Ofra Haza. I'm not warmed up. I pray to the god of charley horses, begging him not to strike me down in mid back bend. He listens, and nothing tears or even complains. But I'm not really in the right mind set. I didn't have any time to prepare. Nevertheless, the show must go on.
It's about then, for a brief moment, that I think I'm experiencing an epileptic seizure. The overhead lights, the unflattering fluorescent type which makes everyone look green, have just started blinking off and on at superduper speed. There are no stage lights. This is it. I'm confused all to hell, but the show must go on. I keep dancing my slow, glamourous, mysterious dance in disco inferno.
Finally, someone turns the spastic lights off. Ah, good. I heave my invisible sigh of relief and keep dancing. I turn to face stage right and then the lights go back on. Jaysus Christos! I keep dancing. The lights appear to have stabilized, and the rest of my dance, although not definitely up to my usual standards, is adequate. The audience seems impressed. Maybe the budget disco lights hynotized them. I don't know.
I go back to the changing area, put my street clothes back on, and join the audience. The entertainment is certainly varied, and talent doesn't seem to be a big prerequisite for performing. So while I sit and watch a guy sing to canned music with cheesy synthesizers, two little girls (about four and six years old, I'd guess) run up to me and tell me how awesome I was. They're really cute, and have both been studying dance for two and a half years. I think that's great, and tell them to keep it up. Then I tell them that I danced twenty minutes earlier than I'd been scheduled to, so when they start performing, they should make sure they're ready extra early. They are pleased with this advice, and promise to always be prepared. Heh....
I check out the information booths. A silent auction is being held. The proceeds go toward AIDS services in NB, so I decide to check it out. There's a weekend car rental package and a $50 gift certificate for a sewing store. I bid $30 on the car rental and $5 on the gift certificate. I'm the only bidder on the latter.
Then the organizer approaches me, thanks me for performing, and asks me if I'd like a pop. "Sure," I say.
She smiles and runs off.
I never get my pop. I'm laughing hysterically inside my own head.
When I get a ride home two hours later, the street is still cordoned off. Police tape is all over the place. I wonder what the heck is going on?
At 10:45 tonight, I receive another phone call. I won both silent auctions.
How did your night go?
I knew from the get-go that tonight's dance gig was so poorly organized it could only be the stuff of legend. I received few communiqués. The phone calls I did receive always happened at 10:45 pm and were hurried things with little information.
So at 10:45 last night, I received another call. My ride was picking me up at 6 pm so we could do a sound/lighting check before the show at 7. I dance at 8. This was the first organized-sounding thing I'd heard. The cynic in me didn't believe it for a moment.
6:00 rolls around, and I'm ready to go. 6:15 rolls around. Then 6:25, 6:30.... At 6:50, I receive a phone call saying my ride is on its way, and she'll call again if she gets lost. At 7:00, I get a call from my ride, saying she's four blocks away, and will be right there. I tell her I'll meet her on the side of the street.
So I put my coat on and rush to the sidewalk. She's less than a five-minute walk away, so since she's driving, I'm expecting her right away.
A police car blocks the street around the corner, whirly-birds alit. I'm mildly curious, but not concerned. Ten minutes later, my ride is still not there, and I am concerned. I walk to the corner to see what's going on. I think maybe there's been a bad car accident. The entire block is cordoned off, with police cars and other emergency vehicles. I don't hear sirens, though. I wonder if the woman who's supposed to pick me up was involved in the car accident. I run back to my apartment and do the *69 thing, but since she's on a cell phone, it doesn't work. I go back downstairs and wait. At this point, I no longer care if I'm in the show or not. I figure that if something happened to my ride, the show will just have to go on without me.
At about 7:15, my ride finally shows up. She apologizes for the delay (which she doesn't explain), and then tells me she didn't even know she was supposed to pick anyone up until she was informed of such at 6. Oy. And she'd thought that maybe *I* was the one in the accident, and wondered if she should ask the police if a belly dancer was run over.
I get to the event. It's both sparsely attended and sparsely decorated. An inexperienced emcee is talking to the small audience (about sixty people, tops, and they all look bored). I go back to the change room and start getting into costume. It's 7:25. Someone comes and collects my CD from me, asking about any special things which need to be done. I tell her to play track one from the CD. I'll be dancing with candles, so the stage lights should be dimmed or turned off, and when I blow out the candles, the lights can go back on.
"No problem," she says, and runs off to the DJ with my cd.
I continue getting dressed, putting on my makeup in a room occupied by Highland, Colombian, and Ghana dancers. I'm just about to start warming up (my dance begins with heavy floorwork) when a man comes in and says, "Are you ready to go on?"
"Uhh, sure," I say. "Just let me light my candles." I look out at the stage and see it bare except for the stumbling, nervous, failing-miserably emcee. He's saying something like, "There's supposed to be a belly dancer. I don't know where she is. I guess you'll just have to listen to me. Uhh. She should be along any moment."
It's 7:40. I'm not supposed to be on for another twenty minutes.
I light both candles and walk to the stage as quickly as I can while mysteriously projecting a slow and serene glide. Figure that out, if you can. One of my candles blows out at the same time that I realize I'm still wearing my enormous dollar store black plastic digital watch. I shuck the watch and the burnt-out candle on a chair and take the stage.
I settle down to the floor to the mellifluous strains of Ofra Haza. I'm not warmed up. I pray to the god of charley horses, begging him not to strike me down in mid back bend. He listens, and nothing tears or even complains. But I'm not really in the right mind set. I didn't have any time to prepare. Nevertheless, the show must go on.
It's about then, for a brief moment, that I think I'm experiencing an epileptic seizure. The overhead lights, the unflattering fluorescent type which makes everyone look green, have just started blinking off and on at superduper speed. There are no stage lights. This is it. I'm confused all to hell, but the show must go on. I keep dancing my slow, glamourous, mysterious dance in disco inferno.
Finally, someone turns the spastic lights off. Ah, good. I heave my invisible sigh of relief and keep dancing. I turn to face stage right and then the lights go back on. Jaysus Christos! I keep dancing. The lights appear to have stabilized, and the rest of my dance, although not definitely up to my usual standards, is adequate. The audience seems impressed. Maybe the budget disco lights hynotized them. I don't know.
I go back to the changing area, put my street clothes back on, and join the audience. The entertainment is certainly varied, and talent doesn't seem to be a big prerequisite for performing. So while I sit and watch a guy sing to canned music with cheesy synthesizers, two little girls (about four and six years old, I'd guess) run up to me and tell me how awesome I was. They're really cute, and have both been studying dance for two and a half years. I think that's great, and tell them to keep it up. Then I tell them that I danced twenty minutes earlier than I'd been scheduled to, so when they start performing, they should make sure they're ready extra early. They are pleased with this advice, and promise to always be prepared. Heh....
I check out the information booths. A silent auction is being held. The proceeds go toward AIDS services in NB, so I decide to check it out. There's a weekend car rental package and a $50 gift certificate for a sewing store. I bid $30 on the car rental and $5 on the gift certificate. I'm the only bidder on the latter.
Then the organizer approaches me, thanks me for performing, and asks me if I'd like a pop. "Sure," I say.
She smiles and runs off.
I never get my pop. I'm laughing hysterically inside my own head.
When I get a ride home two hours later, the street is still cordoned off. Police tape is all over the place. I wonder what the heck is going on?
At 10:45 tonight, I receive another phone call. I won both silent auctions.
How did your night go?
