Sunday, January 22, 2012

Yes, I Get Paid


Sorry for the long radio silence. I've been busy.

Lately friends have asked to be informed about theatre shows I do which are open to the public. (Most theatre shows I do are private performances for corporate functions or wealthy peoples' parties.) I'm sheepish about inviting friends to shows for a number of reasons.

1. I don't pay to watch any of my friends work. My friends will be the first to admit it would be boring to watch them work. Most of them type on computers and sit in meetings to earn money. I did have a few friends who worked as "dancers" (a.k.a. strippers) over the years. One lovely lady invited me to a burlesque show in which she was performing. Yes, we were friends who had changed clothes in front of each other many times. No, I didn't want to see her doing sexy striptease.

2. I don't have the luxury of offering free tickets and/or free meals to my friends. These little theaters and big restaurants where I perform need to make money. You know, so they can pay rent, utilities and the actors.

3. Dinner Mystery and/or new stage works by emerging playwrights may not be everyone's cup of tea.

4. Live theater is a collaborative effort. I'm not sure exactly how it will turn out. Despite my best efforts, it may suck. That's part of what makes live performances exciting and fun.

5. Friends (okay, frenemies) have come to shows in the past and been bitchy.

Like that one frenemy who announced to the whole audience that she didn't feel like she was talking to my dim-witted character when the fourth wall came down for a bit of audience interaction, but like she was talking to someone smarter. I was in character, dangit! I was dropping a clue that Bambi (my character) had some still waters running deep. Though Bambi presented herself as a sweet airhead, she was actually a conniving murderer who masterminded a poisonous plot. Did this frenemy apologize later? Nope.

Then there was that other time, after a show when another frenemy saw a guy walk up and hand me a piece of paper. "Oh my gosh. Did that guy just slip you his phone number? I'm going to tell your husband!" No. That guy was the show's director handing me a paycheck. "Oh... wait... you get paid?" Yes, Dummy-Dearest. I get paid to do my job. It's not exactly like your job, but it is a job.