52 minutes

 

             Hi friends!

            I wanted to relay a fun story about my evening.

            Backstory: In January or February, I sent a headshot/res to a small, emerging theatre in Bailey. They are doing a staged reading of Doubt. I love LOVE Shanley as you all know, and I would never have a shot at creating the role of Sister Aloysius in a traditional performance, so I threw my hat in. In March, they called to audition me. I heard nothing back after the audition other than an email the next day from the producer vaguely referencing a call back and attaching monologues she recommends for me, and I'm getting ghosted a lot so I shrugged it off. Yesterday, 19 June, I had a callback for them. The staged reading is in September.

            The callback was a Zoom call.  I did my prep for the two monologues, reread the play and re watched the movie. I set up my computer in the dining room where I could have space and light, stacking books for height, and got ready for the 6pm callback. I warned Jim that I'd be in a callback when he came home. I also warned the five cats and three dogs, none of which speak English, but I didn't want to exclude them.

            At 5.57 pm I logged on. I am not adept at Zoom, as I spent 18 months teaching on Google Meets, so when they could hear me but I couldn't hear them, I had to troubleshoot in the meeting. Which is a great look for a callback. I figured it out, but they were subjected to my external monologue as I navigated the menu. When I was finally functioning, it was 6pm. The director and an actor reading for Sister James were the only two in the call. I figured this would be short and sweet. 

            They complimented the googley eyed family portraits behind me, and I explained that Harp had done that when she was pregnant. They found it hilarious. Good hilarious or "Why Did we Call Her Back" hilarious, I cannot say.

            Immediately, the dogs wanted back in.

            Then Sock, the cat, who had been offered re entry with the canines but snubbed the chance, started staring at me through the door. So I let her in.

            So far this was going exactly as planned.

            I had no idea what to expect for two very valid reasons:

            1) I have not been to a play callback as an actor in years. I cannot recall if I had a callback for Steel Mags in 2016 or not. If I did, it was a usual group thing, done where actors are shuffled hither and yon until the cast is revealed. I've not been to a two person callback...ever? I recall three of us for a Sam Shepard at Curious: it was my college friend Jon Arp, my friend Ellen and myself. Clearly Jon was already cast, Ellen and I were competing for the female role. Ellen won. It took maybe twenty or thirty minutes.

        2) I suck at Zoom. The original Zoom audition had been with the director and producer, and took a good thirty minutes. That was surprising to me. They both gave me direction, and then the producer sent me a list of other monologues I should try in the future. Which made me laugh, because I am retired. I can't learn lines any more, the concussion broke my brain and the only reason I auditioned for this were the words "Staged Reading". Which translates to "Not Off Book".  

          So, when only the director was present with another actor, I was thrown yet again.

          I had prepared the monologues, but had not prepared the scene because I struggle with reading comprehension in unfamiliar situations (see above: concussion) and did not know it was expected that I do so.

           After fumbling around, the director asked me to read the scene with the other actor. Because I cannot manage Zoom, I couldn't remember how to get the script on screen with the camera so I can remain in frame. So I had to read from my phone, held in my left hand in front of me, next to the camera. We read it once, and halfway through Jim arrived home. The garage door went up. The dogs went off. The Ring doorbell went off. The kitten jumped on the lap top and toppled my tenuous tower of books that allowed me to look directly into the camera instead of down.

          I kept going, juggling my phone and the laptop for a few lines, before stopping. I laughed and said "Are you sure you wanted to call me back for this?" They both laughed as well, and again I wondered if I was being laughed at, and I rebuilt my tower as we continued. As I adjusted, I named two other actors in town that could nail this part and suggested they call them. More laughter.

          Thirty minutes later I had read the scene five times. Every time she stopped, it was to give me new direction. I've never made an actor read that many times, even if they were cast.

           I figured she'd seen enough, there would be no need for the monologues at this point. 

           I was wrong. She dismissed the other actor and then had me take on the monologues. Again, stopping and starting with new direction as she had in the scenes.

           When she finally thanked me, and started reviewing the rehearsal and performance schedule, it was 6.52. 

           I swear, regardless of what direction I was given, I kept doing it the same way. At one point, she said "Disregard the past direction and think about this thing" and kept talking. By the time she'd finished explaining, I'd forgotten what This Thing was and had to ask her to repeat it. I then proceeded to do the monologue exactly the way I'd been doing it (in my mind) because my brain hurt and I'm not Meryl Streep and I'm not an actor any more FOR THIS REASON.

           I walked downstairs after the callback where Jim was washing the Corvette and got a beer. I sat in front of the TV with the beer for thirty minutes, not comprehending what I was watching, just replaying the callback and ruminating on how ridiculous it must have been to watch me juggle my phone, five cats, three dogs, a tower of books, the lap top and communicating the intentions of Sister Aloysius, and running through the names of local actors I know that could crush that role. Maybe someday I'll get to direct it. Maybe someone would want me to direct them.

           I am definitely not an actor any more.

           And I am OK with it.

            SCENE

           

      

I LOST MY IPHONE FOR 15 HOURS AND FEEL THAT I NOW GET SWEENEY TODD

 THE LOSS

First of all, let's all acknowledge that this story centers around kryssi going to the gym.

                                        Thank you.

   Since I have an iPhone and headphones from my CD Walkman, I need a happily bemusing "dongle" to connect to my limited Apple library of music. I do not understand how to download music, so what I have are a few random Brenden Urie songs that Harp transported from the sky, and the Broadway version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I like the Brendon Urie songs, they're great to walk/bicycle/treadmill to. I save Hedwig for weights. And by "weights", I mean the machines that are weighted and clearly marked "Lat Pulldown", or some other specific identification. I like those. They make sense to me and I understand how to change the weight. Everything else on the weight side of the gym causes me anxiety. I like the hamster treadmill side better. Those people get me. We understand each other. I do not understand human beings with phones in their pockets and wireless "ear pods"  jammed into their hearing canals. How does that work? There is no cord. It's like heat in the microwave, I dunno how it works and I'm not investigating. 

   Generally, I remember the steps to pack myself for the gym. Step one is to put on pants. It is an important step that I do not recommend overlooking. Step 2 is locating my phone. Step 3 is to open the Corvette and retrieve the dongle Jim uses to play his iPhone, because I don't have one. I guess I did at one point, but I probably lost it. Losing a dongle sounds like me. So I borrow his. My headphones stay in my car, because I will not remember both the dongle and the headphones. 

    Yesterday at 4.30, I was halfway to the gym when I realized I had not taken Step 3. I left the house muddled about dogs and kittens and the new kitten was downstairs and the new dog was looking at her and I was worried about leaving. But Harp was upstairs so I left, and did not stop at the Corvette to retrieve the dongle. I shrugged and figured I could just watch the four news channels, the fitness ads or whichever Rock movie they were perpetually playing at the gym while working out. I am not so high strung as to need my power workout mix, or whatever such these kids today use as motivation. I just want to be able to walk at age 60. That's it.

    As I got out of the car, I answered a text about the hooligan dog and cat in question. Then I had to open the back door to retrieve my water bottle. I thought about leaving my phone in the car, since I could not listen to anything, anyway. Then I thought about leaving my keys in the car, since  I was not driving anywhere, anyway.  I then shoved the keys in my right pocket and the phone in my left.

    Now, a bit more backstory: because I do not know the Apple Secret Code to my phone, I cannot add aps. Which is fine, I don't care, but the gym wanted me to add theirs so I can sign in when I work out. When I explained that I am 80 and cannot use aps, they allowed me to use my phone number and fingerprint to sign in. Based on my recent history with fingerprints, I shirked, but all went well. So when I go to the gym, my phone stays in my pocket. I use my fingers to check in. It's like braille. Or finger painting.

     After using the many arm machines that have become some of my closest friends, I moved to the bicycles. I am in love with the low seated bikes. See above "Age 80". When I sat down and began to punch in "WEIGHT LOSS" "AGE" "WEIGHT", I weirdly grabbed my left pocket. It was empty.

    THE SEARCH

     As I may be elderly and doddering, I am also college educated and have managed to fumble my way through twenty years of teaching, so problem solving skills are not a thing I lack. I walked back to my arm machine friends. They are white metal with black bases. I assumed I had lost the phone when tilted backwards from one of the machines. I scanned and squinted around legs and arms, trying not to look at Gym People. I walked to the bike I was just at, looked at the water bottle holder which still held my water bottle, and walked around the bike. Whose base is also black.

     Did I mention my phone is black? That was some bad writing. My apologies.

     My phone is black.

     I then walked back to the arm machines, trying not to look crazy as my eyes crept around the edges while others were working out. I then went to the drinking fountain, thinking maybe I'd put my  phone on the paper towel dispenser. Nope. Then I saw the trash can. I have been known to throw things away. I lost my first set of keys at Littleton that way. I literally just threw them away with the trash and went about my business. I first looked toward the desk to see if help was forthcoming---I'd clearly been searching for something for at least ten minutes. The sentries there were blank faced. So, I dug the plastic bag out of the can and rummaged through it like a raccoon. A nice Gym Person working out near by walked over and politely asked what I'd lost. I said "My phone". He asked if I'd like to call it. Without a beat I said, "How? It's lost."

     At this moment he should have walked away. But he kindly offered to call from his phone, and told me he had lost his ear buds (what are they called in Fahrenheit 451? It's making me nuts. Shells?) and had to dig them out of the trash once. I explained that my phone was only on vibrate, but thank you so much. He said he'd keep his eye out. Nice guy. I appreciate human beings who are present.

     I did one more pass like an alligator in a North Carolina pond at the arm machines, and then decided to tell the desk I'd lost my phone. NOTE: The Desk People just sat and watched me dump the trash. Without expression. I'm not sure they are human. I explained that my phone fell out of my pocket. After blinking slowly, the Desk Person asked if I had checked my pockets.

      I blinked back. Then I wrote my name, the words "black iPhone" and my husband's phone number on a sticky note that he absently put into a drawer. Which he then opened again to declare "No, nobody's turned in a cell phone."

THE QUEARY

       I concluded that I could not find the phone with my eyeballs. Calling from someone else's phone seemed silly since the ringer wasn't on. So I left. The Desk Person told me to call about six pm to see if it was turned in. He said it the same way people say "I have too much homework tonight."

       I called at six. He said it was not turned in. Did I check my pockets? He asked. He then told me to call back at 7.30. I assumed that was the shift change, and he didn't want to talk to me anymore. He said they clean the gym regularly, that if my phone was there it would turn up. "People are really good about turning in phones here," and "Tell me again where you were and I'll go look."

       I called at 7.30. I could hear him open the drawer. "No cell phones have been turned in. But call back at like 9.30 when we close. We clean the place really good, if it's here we'll find it. Where were you, I'll go look." Like I did not know he's the same Desk Droid from earlier. I've given up on believing in their humanity.

       I called at 9.30. "No cell phones have been turned in. Call back tomorrow morning like at 7.30, if someone finds it they'll turn it in. People here are really good about that. She'll clean tomorrow morning too, so if we miss it tonight she'll find it," and of course "Where were you working out I'll go look for it."

       7 am this morning, the Morning Desk Droid told me no phones had been turned in, she didn't see any when she opened, and had I tried my car? Sometimes she wears outfits that dump her phone under her seat...I shut her down. "The inside of my car is in my driveway. I lost the phone in the gym."

       At this point, I've accepted I no longer have a cell phone. I have to take my mom to her doctor  Appointment, and I'm feeling disoriented. So Harp suggests that I use the Find My Phone thing on my iPhone.

    "Do I have that?" 

    "All iPhones have it. You just log into your Apple ID."

    "I don't have that."

    "Yes you do, it's how you download aps."

     Blink. Blink.

    "Harp, I don't know that code, remember? I never use it." Dear Readers, see above "Signs into gym with phone number and fingerprint because she cannot remember her Apple ID".

    "Oh, maybe I can figure it out. If not, try your Apple Watch."

    Ah. The Apple Watch. A birthday gift for Harp a few years ago when they were doing Orange Theory. It's mine, now, inexplicably. I used it for ten minutes before putting it in a drawer. I don't understand the point of the Apple Watch, the only thing it does that I understand is tell time, answer texts, read email and count my steps and my phone does that so...why do I need the watch? So it went into one drawer, and the charger into the closet because that's the game I like to play with my addled mind. Some people prep for Zombies, some for the rapture, I prep for dementia. "Guess Where You Put The Things" is daily routine. It's practice. Or rehearsal. Or prepping. Semantics.

    So before I go to pick up mom, I dig the watch out of the drawer. It has mango lotion on it, and has no charge. It has mango lotion on it because in addition to my myriad peccadillos, I do not fully twist the lids on anything. I remember the charger is in the closet, so I fetch it (only after trying to charge the watch with the flat phone charging disc, because that might have worked) and plug it in. I set the watch on it and the green lightning bolt says it's charging. Great. When I get done with mom's appointment, maybe it will work and I can go the gym and ping my phone, like Bob Hope with a metal detector on the beach. That's the visual, friends, it's not far off.

       At 9 am I leave to get mom.

      THE 'FIND MY iPHONE' THING

    At 2.30 pm I was finally home. Harp greets me:

            "OK, so dad got the Find My iPhone thing to work and it says your phone is in the parking lot at the gym. But I went down twice and I didn't see it. But we can go together, and he can ping it from work. Or we can see if your watch charged, and ping it like that."

        So we drive to the gym. En route Harp has discovered that while my Mango Apple Watch has powered up and tells time, it does not seem to think that I have an iPhone. I park the car and start searching the lot. Harp gets her dad on the phone to ping my phone from Aurora. We're doing great. We got this. 

        The phone is not in the parking lot, I neither see nor hear it. So I just walk into the gym, as I feel very close to the Desk People, and I can hear my phone being pinged. However, neither Desk Person seemed able to hear it. Over the din of my dinging phone, I yell "I'm the one who lost the cell phone. I can hear it. Can't you hear it?"

        Blink. Blink.

        Also, I'm switching tenses. Relax, it's not real journalism. Enjoy the story.

        So the Desk Person and I follow the sound. Other Gym People--the working out humans, not the Desk People--- are looking around, as they can hear the tone and it doesn't make sense. They are looking directly at my phone, which is ringing and flashing at the black base of the bicycle I had set upon a mere 15 hours ago. It was parallel to the base, not flat on the floor, which made it...invisible, really. Unless you were sweeping or mopping or knew exactly where it was. Which brings me to my next point: I don't believe they actually clean the gym.

        I raise up my pinging phone, and declare "At Last My Arm Is Complete Again!" and I march proudly out the doors of the gym.

       Scene.

    PS BECKY TRAMPLER I know you want to go at this to edit, but just enjoy my voice and have a laugh. I love you.