I returned to St. Mark’s Church on Capitol Hill this weekend for the beginning of Tech Week. The cast of Metromaniacs has been practicing for weeks now, and it’s time to do rehearsals onstage. A stage, therefore, needed to be built. The trick to this is that St. Mark’s is an active church, so stage must be disassembled every Saturday. Sunday was the day it would be built for the first time, using the trees and moon I’d helped decorate in January (https://jrmhmurphy.com/2025/01/13/paint-no-rest-for-the-wicked/ ).

I didn’t have as much fun as the first time. In fact, it was kind of a drag during act 2. This was because a call went out for volunteers, and lots of people showed up. There were about twenty of us there in total, and no one knew each other, aside from the director, the producers, the cast, and the crew, who all had ther own in-jokes.

The volunteer named Elizabeth had the right idea. She introduced herself to everybody and asked them where they’re from. It’s a legitimate question in DC.

I hate when someone asks me that, because I have to respond with a high-pitched, “Welllll…” I could always continue and say “Lots of places,” like Connor McLeod, but I always list them. They usually zone out after the first three.

Elizabeth was adorable, with her platinum bob, pink hoodie, clear-framed glasses, and her fearlessness. If you meet someone like this, you’re likely to assume that, once you got them started, they were going to talk you into unconsciousness. Not Elizabeth.

She answered questions quickly and efficiently, so you had to steer her in the right direction. She was born in 1997. She’s from Montgomery, she went to college in Birmingham, and she moved here because she needed more culture in her life. She likes backstage work, but hasn’t done it since high school, and she will be my rival from now on.

The other person I met immediately, who was not afraid to talk, was Jane. She was somewhere in her mid-twenties, and had a Barbie figure. Her hair was long and straight, from the nineties (formerly from the sixties), and her voice squeaked like Betty Boop, making it difficult to understand the words she was saying. She was in the cast, and she’d never done community theater before. She was spirited away early on.

Ernie spoke. Ernie reminds me of my tenth-grade communications teacher, who was a compact, swarthy man with a mustache and an aggressive hippy vibe. He assured us that once he finished giving his speech, he would be giving the whole thing over to Monique, the stage manager.

He did not. He led us through the transformation of the seating from church seating to bleacher seating. First, we stacked the chairs already there.

Then we set up the risers. (That’s Elizabeth with her back to us.)

And finally, putting seventy-six of the chairs back.

With twenty of us, it was easy to get the work done instantaneously. The problem was, by the time you can get something to do, someone sweeps in and grabs the job. It was a full-contact sport trying to be useful. You’re tripping over everyone, and everyone is tripping over you.

Elizabeth, as always, was the vanguard of activity. She just went to people and asked them questions. I tried this, but if you’re awkward, and someone calls out for volunteers right when you ingratiate yourself into a conversation, it might be discouraging.

When they started hanging the curtains in front of the altar, I realized that I was only getting in the way. I sat in the bleachers and counted down the 127 minutes until we were done, but then it got interesting.

When we were painting last month, Ruth, the bouncy producer, was disbelieving and thrilled that I was interested in working backstage. When I arrived today, the other producer, the assistant stage manager, the director, and Monique, the stage manager, were thrilled to meet me.

As I sat there, feeling useless, Maddy, young and concerned, and Monique, middle-aged and amused, sat on either side of me and explained what I’d be doing. Monique, as you might remember, was the stage manager, and Maddie was her assistant. My job includes moving the “beanbag boulder” during intermission.

After that: stuff to do! The three of set up the backstage so we wouldn’t be seen from the bleachers, wouldn’t get in the way of the cast in this manic farce, and would be in a lot of light because there would be a lot of downtime, and they’re encouraging me to draw.

They also showed me the props, among which were a feathered fan, a plushie ferret, a glass clock, and the contents of locked box. The contents of the box were a pouch full of (fake) blood, a pouch of (fake) silver coins, including three British pounds, and a pair of (fake) dueling pistols, which were the reason the box was locked.

They sent me home early, which I realized when I looked at my phone, was eighteen minutes early. On my way out, I bumped into Jane, who was in full costume, which I can only describe as Marie Antoinette. Monday night, I’m advised to do nothing but watch the rehearsal so I get a feel for it. This is going to be a breeze.