Dancin' on the Ceiling
It's been awhile since I just sat down at the old computer and cranked out a good yarn. I know that the billions of people who don't read this site are probably distraught over this, so I decided to cater to my lack of readership and spit one out. This is from "way-back" but ya'll don't care, right? Good.
In college, I was pretty heavily involved in the theatre. You may have seen me in such stellar roles as "Guard #3" or "Man on Train" or "Table." Anyway, one day I was helping to set up the lighting for the show opening that weekend, and I was up in the light grid (approximately 25 feet above the stage floor) flaunting death, dropping stuff, and cussing a lot. Every once in a great while, I would finish hooking up a light, or "Instrument" as the people running around wearing all black called it, and move on to another precarious position on the grid. At one point, I got a little bit overheated, awfully sweaty, and pretty tired, so I decided to rest for a minute.
Forty-five minutes later, I awoke in an extraordinarily dark and indescribably empty theatre. Keep in mind that I am 25 feet up on a two foot wide metal catwalk. I did my little turn on the catwalk then decided I was definitely not too sexy to heed the law of gravity and only narrowly avoided staining the seats with an interesting new colour called "hint of brain." I dropped to all fours and crawled slowly through the darkness to the place that I knew the ladder to be.
It wasn't there. Fuck.
Those of you that know me personally know that there are two things I always have on my person. 1) My cell phone 2) My flask. I did what any reasonable person would do when they find themselves trapped in a dangerous place with almost no light and zero chance of escape. I had a cocktail. There is nothing like a touch of scotch to warm an ulcerated belly and get you thinking clearly. Shortly I had a plan. After three rings, Cory answered the phone.
Me: Cory. Fucking assholes left me up in the light grid, turned off the fucking lights, and took down the fucking ladder.
Cory: Jesus, man. I'll be right over to get you down.
Me: Shut up and listen. I have a more important job for you.
Cory: Anything, man, what can I do for you?
Me: Go to the liquor store, pick up a bottle of gin, a bottle of scotch, a case of beer, ice, and glasses. Then come over to the theatre.
Cory: What are you going to do?
Me: I'm going to call some girls.
Cory arrived and I lowered a rope, to which he tied the booze. I gingerly hoisted it up. After that transaction was complete, Cory started a boombox on the stage floor and replaced the ladder. Just then, the three sororities I had called began to pour in through the door.
After that party, everybody went down.