If you’ve ever been on the road with a show, you’ve no doubt heard people ask in an excited manner about your work. The life they project on you is about as different from the reality as chalk and cheese. Traveling for work means being away from the routines of the usual home life: dishes, vacuuming and a 9 to 5 life. You are not on vacation. You are not touring with friends. You are not in control of your schedule. Everything is in service of the show. Your personal life/health/happiness is not a consideration.
That is not to say your employer wants you to be unhappy. It is quite the contrary. You are expensive to replace. You are here in the service of someone else’s dream.
A frustrating reality for a manager of a tour is, you will never be viewed as a person who is not his job. I would never approach a performer at the Barnes and Noble coffee shop and ask them to sing me a few bars from my favorite song from the show. To the performer, if you exist, you are deemed to be working.
“Ummm. What time is the bus leaving on Tuesday?” “I forgot to get my cash per diem, can I get it now?” “Do you know the name of the hotel we are staying at in Chicago?” I have had people ask me these things as they ran into me on the street on a day off, at dinner with friends, or the newest method… The midnight text message.
It is a small wonder managers isolate themselves from the company members. There is so little free time from work.
I called this posting “What’s New On The Treadmill” because the tour is at the stage where everyone knows the routine. Here’s a rundown of where we’ve been:
Baltimore: Except for the crab cakes, I can’t say I like this town much. A dancer from a touring company of JOLSON: The Musical was mugged here in 1998 and shot in the neck when he refused to surrender his backpack. He was paralyzed by the attack. Ever since news of that attack, I have dreaded coming to Baltimore.
When we arrived one of our bus drivers decided to park the bus in no-parking zone at the hotel. He says he asked someone at the front desk and they said it was okay. (Front desk staff at the hotel are the lowest people on the totem pole at the property). Then, the driver left town to visit his family in Richmond. Angry hotel management called me and demanded the bus be moved the next afternoon. I called the driver back from Richmond and had him park the bus where we had told him to park in the first place. Neither of us was happy.
Uncasville, CT/ Mohegan Sun Casino: Nestled in the middle of woods of Connecticut is a sprawling, shimmering casino and hotel. The hotel is used to hosting stars of all magnitudes so everything was perfect. I got a small thrill when I walked to a private entrance to meet my bus and was met by a man in a suit who asked me: “Are you here to go to the heliport?” “Umm, no. But that sounds nice.” I replied. Deflated, he turned to walk away and out from a door behind him came Elton John and his small entourage. Mr. John walked like an old man (A rich old man).
Boston, MA: I knew this was going to be a difficult city. Even though we had secured bus parking at our Hyatt right near the edge of Chinatown and a small walk to the Wang Theatre, there was no parking to be had. It seems Elton John’s band had parked their sleeper buses in our spots. Damn that Old Man, Parking-Stealing Elton John! The hotel got the city to tow the “mass-holes” from the spots they had reserved for Mr. John’s buses and we could park 2 of our buses. The others went off to a rest area. The show went off without a hitch and everyone enjoyed a day off in my home state.
When it came time to depart, we were missing a musician. I sent one bus off and held the other bus back while I had hotel security open his door After calls to his room and cell went unanswered. The room looked as though Guns and Roses might be passed out under a pile of bottles. I stood at the foot of the bed to see if the musician was breathing. He was. I yelled his name. Nothing. I yelled it again. This time he mumbled. I mustered up my most God-like voice and told him to get up. Still drunk, he shot out of his bed and at attention shirtless and in his underwear. I told him I’d hold the bus while we threw his stuff in his suitcases. This musician had no understudy and he knew it. I couldn’t have left him behind if I wanted.
To add the final insult to injury, the hotel charged my bill $311.00 in smoking penalty and minibar charges for this musician because he never presented a credit card at the front desk for his incidentals.
I went to Yankee Candle yesterday. I bought a candle and it went like this:
Clerk: “Sir, did you know you have to cut these wicks to 1/8th inch before lighting?”
(she cuts the wick with a strange L-shaped scissors).
Me: “No, I didn’t know that, thanks.”
Clerk: “Would you like to buy this wick trimmer, $9.95?”
Me: “No, I own scissors.”
Clerk: “What’s your phone number?”
Me: “I don’t care to share my personal information unless you’re willing to share yours. What’s your phone number?”
Clerk: (Looking as if she saw something smelly on the bottom of her shoe) “No.”
Me: “Once you give up your privacy, you don’t get it back.”
Clerk: (Not giving up). “Are you registered online for our discounts?”
Me: “I’m not willing to trade my private information for ½ price off my 4th purchase of an overpriced candle.”
Yankee Candle Christmas Wreath scent: $22.99,
Pushy Clerk: minimum wage,
When my company members ask me questions at inappropriate times, I play dumb and just say "I don't know." That usually works.
ReplyDelete