A Night at the Opera

A few months ago, the Hartford Courant ran an ad looking for extras for the Connecticut Opera's production of Aida.  Basically, it said if you're a "well-built man" in good shape between the ages of 18 and 55 and would like to hold a spear or fan a pharoah then to call a phone number. I figured, "Why not?"  I gave them a call and they told me to come in for rehearsal a few days later.  Naturally, for the next couple of days I sweated whether or not I was "well-built" enough to cut the mustard, but as soon as I got there I realized I had nothing to worry about.  Compared to the rest of the jokers who showed up I was practically the Governer of California.  After the performance the  review said we were "the most well-fed bunch of Egyptians the world had ever seen."  Ouch.

Anyway, I went to all the rehearsals and wound up getting a relatively big part.  I played the role of "Bowl Holding Priest".  For all of Act 1, Scene 2, I was to be onstage.  Before the curtain went up, we would all be in position.  I would be standing almost in the center, next to Ramfis the High Priest. When the curtain was raised, the smoke machines were to go off, Ramfis would bless the holy sword and wash it in my big gold bowl for about a minute while he sang a little ditty.  When he's done washing, I would turn, walk up to the top of a platform and look straight ahead into the 3,000 person audience for the rest of the scene.

Pretty straightforward, right?  Maybe for you, buddy... but simple directions are no match for me.

The first night of the performance went off without a hitch.  Fiona and my Mom were in the audience, and I held that bowl like a pro.  My technique was flawless, and I feel safe in saying I made them proud.  The rest of the opera was okay too, I guess.

To be honest, I was a little bored of the whole thing by that time.  After sitting through two weeks of daily rehearsals, even the "Grandest of the Grand Operas" starts to lose it's luster.  I knew every note, and every stage direction, and it was getting old.

Anyway, the second and final night of the performance rolled around on Saturday.  I went to the Bushnell, slithered into my costume, spackled on my stage makeup, grabbed my bowl and went upstairs to watch everybody get ready.

The opera began on time, and it sounded great as always.  The orchestra was humming along, and the sopranos were wailing through their parts, so I decided I could let things take care of themselves for a while.  I headed back to the stagehands room to watch the Red Sox game.

After a couple of minutes I heard a round of applause and figured it was time for my scene to begin.  I walked out of the stagehands room, and to my utter and complete horror, I saw everyone onstage and in position.  They were holding the curtain for me.

As this realization dawned on me, some girl saw me and yelled/whispered "Where the hell have you been?!"  I bolted out onstage and got into my place feeling like a total loser.  Which, obviously, I was.  Luckily, I was only about 20 seconds late but as I'm sure you can imagine, 20 seconds is an eternity in dramatime.  Understandably, Ramfis was absolutely freaking out.  If I hadn't been there, he would have had to pretend to wash the sword in a bowl that wasn't there for over a minute.  Instead of looking like a High Priest he would have just looked High.

So I ran out and got in position, and just before the curtain went up Ramfis shot me a look that could have melted iron.  Every single person in the cast was looking at me like I was biggest asshole to ever set foot on stage at the Bushnell.  It was awful.

The curtain came up and I stood there while Ramfis washed his sword.  Then, after that excruciating minute I turned and walked up to my spot on the platform where I stood and began looking out over the audience as I slowly spiraled into insanity.

"You stupid idiot," I said to myself, "you don't even like sports, fer Chrissakes!!  How could you miss that cue?  Now everybody hates you."  I wanted to disappear.  I stood facing 3,000 people in suits and gowns and I saw them all shooting daggers at me.  I began pleading with the man upstairs.  "God," I said, "I know I screwed up.  But please, if you could just do something to get me out of this I would love it.  I don't know what, maybe like a mass murderer or something. Anything.  Please."

Needless to say, God didn't drop Ted Nugent into the Bushnell Theatre.  Instead he set the fire alarm off.

I couldn't believe it.  My prayer had literally been answered.  I stood onstage with my mouth wide open as the orchestra was drowned out by the deafening wail of the fire alarm.  I cannot possibly convey the joy that filled my heart at that moment.  Seeing 3,000 tuxedoes slowly file out of the performance hall was one of the happiest sights my eyes have ever seen.

We stood outside in full costume with the rest of the audience for a full 45 minutes while the fire department came and verified that there was indeed no fire.  They blamed it on an overenthusiastic smoke machine, but I think we can all agree on what the REAL cause of that alarm was. After everything was sorted out, everyone came back into the theatre and the rest of the show went off without a hitch.  My enormous screw-up became an inside joke, and we all had a good laugh at the tardy Bowl-Holding Priest.

I have a few pictures from the opera posted here.  Enjoy.

Now it's time to get down to business.  There's a turkey waiting to be stuffed and there's a grandma waiting to be kissed.  I hope you all have a happy Thanksgiving, and I promise I'll do my best to keep the posts coming more regularly.

Posted by flow Frazao on November 25, 2004 at 11:49 PM in Little Stories | Permalink