Stage Work - Tumblr Posts

In which my sheer ignorance brings in to question complicated security.

Story time!

So. My career is somewhere in the bracket of "Theatre Technician". That's live theatre, not film house theatre. With that said, the same union governs hands for stage, concerts, television, and film sets. You ever sit all the way through the movie credits and see a sort of five armed star with letters in the arms? IATSE, that's us.

So in the wide field of our abilities and skills, often we're hired as workers to set up and tear down concerts. Sometimes it's a global tour, sometimes it's a festival one-off. I had a call of the latter type on the morning of the 31st. The job was taking apart a set that had been constructed for a ball room Halloween event at one of the nearby casinos in Niagara Falls. Show up, knock it down, bin the garbage, shove the keepers in a transport truck, call it a day.

Reminder I'm a motorcyclist.

Now, I'd never taken a gig at this particular venue before, and that's what initiated the amusing chain of events. Typically I'll show up somewhere and scout around for employee parking or bike racks or a security guard to ask, and 95% of the time people point me to an alcove or some bike racks or beside a dumpster. "Just tuck it over there," they say, "it's so small we don't mind." Saves me the hassle of walking twenty blocks in my space suit at two in the morning, which is both exhausting and stressful.

I left early to give myself plenty of time to find out where I could park. I showed up at the building, and it is huge. Not just a casino, but a hotel, a food court, a mall, multiple stages, huge. So instantly I know there HAS to be employee parking for the several hundred staff that keep something of that size working... I just had to find it.

So I pull in the main drive and see "park yourself 5$" and "valet park 10$". Perfect, I'll just ask a valet attendant. Except it's 7:30am and there's no one around. Shoot. Okay.

So I double back and drive down the curving ramp to "Park Yourself". And this was where it got fun.

Unless you're a rider, or know a rider who has bitched about this, you might not be aware that typically the sensors that have to do with gate arms at things like parking lots are not sensitive enough to detect motorcycles. That "No bikes or pedestrians" sign is basically because the technology isn't good enough to tell there's a rider there, and it's cheaper to put up an elitist sign than update your system. (The same is true for intersections at 3am, Glendale Ave and 406 South exit ramp I'm looking at YOU.) We don't trigger the weight/mass/metal or whatever the hell is needed to alert the system to change. So if you ever pull up to a stop light with a forlorn biker who starts beckoning you to drive forward, they're trying to get you to trip the light detector so you can both go.

Back to parking! So things like this are one of the many reasons it's easier NOT to "Just go to the lot like the rest of us" on a motorcycle. So there I was, pulled up to the parking entrance gate, and the automated ticket dispenser is having none of my shit. It won't even turn on. I poke the big green HELP button and nothing happens.

Now I'm stuck, because option one is turning around and drive back UP the curving IN ramp and hoping there isn't a car coming, or option two, which any good biker hooligan would resort to - driving around the gate.

So I drive around the gate.

Now I'm inside the underground parking with no pass and still have no idea where to park. So I head for the exit before security comes screaming after me for cheating their gate system. The exit has a staffed booth! Perfect!

I pull up to the attendant and explain "Hello, I've never been here before, I'm supposed to be doing a set tear down for (company) in (room name) and I'm not sure where to put my bike. I couldn't trigger the gate arm so I don't have the parking pass." The attendant nodded sagely, replying "yah, bikes don't, I have to manually hold the gate open for them to leave. Let me make a call."

So the attendant scoops up a phone and buzzes someone and repeats my story. Biker here to work, where should they go. Person on the other side of the phone says "ask valet". Attendant calls valet. Biker here to work, where should they go. Person on the other side of the phone says "come back around to the front and someone will show them". Perfect! They hold the gate so I can leave and I exit and loop around the block back to where I started.

Except there's no one there. A limo. Some taxis. No staff... Oh wait there's a person standing at the curb with a red staff shirt. I putter over and say "Hello! Were you the one waiting for me?" His confusion was evident. I continued "I was just at the underground parking attendant, I'm here for a work call and trying to find out where I can park my bike." His confusion deepened. "Why didn't you park it there," he asked, perplexed. "The sensor arm doesn't let bikes in," I calmly responded. The gears turned, and rather observantly he asked "wait so then how did you get to the attendant?" "Oh. I jumped the curb," I responded matter-of-factly, because I am a motorcycle, and do things like that. This stymies him for a moment, but he looks around and asks "How long are you gonna be?" "The call said until one," I answered; It did, but that ended up being a dirty lie on the part of the company and we all almost missed Halloween. He waved down the laneway ahead of us. "See that sedan? Just leave it in front of that, as close to the fence as you can."

This is exactly what I'd hoped for. I thank him for his time and scoot over to the indicated location, mindful not to block the "No parking or you'll be towed" sign affixed to the fence. First hurdle complete.

Strolling in through the front doors I scan the lobby for some indication of where I needed to be. None of the signage indicated my destination, and that's when I spotted security at the inner doors to the casino proper. Taking a moment to remove my full face helmet to look a TINY bit less like a hired thug from a Mission Impossible movie here to pull a heist, I approached the guard and presented my story. "Here to do a tear down in (room), never been here before, where go." He amiably points to another hall, directing me down to the end, take a left.

I wandered off through the mall concourse, down to the food court, and there on the left was the signage I needed. Down another, much posher hallway until I found the room full of road cases and scissor lifts, took my gear off, met the crew chief, proceeded to work.

Some hours later...

I jokingly mention my ordeal in the parking lot to one of the other members on the call with me. "Why didn't you just go to the contractor's parking?" they asked me, confused. "The what now?" I respond, equally confused. "Contractor parking. It's around back. And it's free." Well here's the thing. I didn't park in the 'contractor's parking' because none of the three separate employees (Not counting the two more over the phone from the lot attendant) told me 'just go to the contractor's parking.' Five people who all presumably knew the building and its features and no one said "workers park around back" when I said "I'm here to work." But that's fine, because everyone was lovely and helped me and parking beside a fence is free too.

"Well then how did you get in?" my brother member inquired. "Through the front door?" I responded hesitantly, because that seemed a sensible answer. "Did you stop by security?" he continued. "No?" I answered, feeling a nagging unease. "Then how did you get your access lanyard?" he asked.

At this point I start looking around and realize that every other person there has a white plastic permit on a lanyard around their neck.

"I didn't?" I stated flatly. Because I didn't know I was supposed to. Because none of the employees told me. Because none of my coworkers told me. Shit.

"Oh man, well, they'll chase you down later. This is a Casino. Security is really tight here. You aren't allowed in this part without a lanyard."

Except I very much was. In that part. Without a lanyard. Oh well. At that point I wasn't about to wander off from tearing the set down to get lost in the labyrinthine underbelly of access hallways, nor was I going to waste another crew members time making them show me where to go. I'd just fess up when security finally got around to chasing me down. I'd go fill out the paperwork. I'd trade my drivers license for a work permit, and continue with the call.

Another few hours into the gig and two security guards walk up to me. 'This is it,' I think to myself. 'They're going to scold me for not having a lanyard.' One guard points to me. Or rather, the flat beside me. "Hey, we were wondering. If that's getting thrown out, can we have it?" My brain skips a gear as it tries to readjust. It was being saved for the company since it was a 'good' 4x8 flat with no damage. "Shoot. Any idea where we can get something like that?" They were referring to the brick texture later afixed to the front of the flat. I confessed I didn't personally know (I asked the crew head, apparently lumber supply stores). They thanked me for my time and wandered off. And there I stood. Lanyardless. But hey it wasn't so bad because I was obviously working, in this one room, with other workers.

And then we started taking materials to the loading dock, which meant winding through the access hallways, bland beige concrete and motivational posters on cork boards and warehouses of alcohol and kitchen supplies. Surely. SURELY NOW. Passing by facility workers and supervisors and maintenance staff. Surely someone will point at me and glare and say "You can't be down here without a pass!" And I'll flail and blurt out "I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

But no one did.

Not by 1pm. Not by 6:30pm when the damn miserable call finally ended. Not after the call when I put on all my gear, including my helmet, and walked back up through the concourse, just to test my luck, as people shot furtive glances at what must be a terrorist come to rob their winnings. Not when I wandered back through the front doors and got on my bike parked beside the 'No Parking' sign next to high-roller shuttles and executive limos.

And that's how my sheer lack of knowledge of facility protocol basically invalidated everyone else's strict adherence to the system.

Because if I could just wander in and wander around. Couldn't anyone? What good is everyone turning in their photo ID to keep the building locked down if one person -doesn't-. Not maliciously, mind you. A bit experimentally, perhaps. Wondering how long I could pull it off.

It just goes to prove the old adage that if you look like you belong where you are, most people won't question you, but in today's high tension, terrorism alert climate, I'm not certain that's a good thing.

And next time I'll park in the contractor parking.

*Locations have been intentionally omitted because I don't want to get anyone in trouble.

I am "smol", as the kids these days say. I think. Short, scrawny, underweight, harmless looking. But also really flexible and agile and pretty darn good balance. So being height challenged I too often find myself straining to reach just another inch or two to secure some clamp or loosen some bolt or clip in a safety - and No, Anrita, I can't "just make the lift go higher" because there's gods damned structural steel in the way.

Net result is I'm constantly just jumping up on the kickplate of the bucket, or standing on the apex of an A-Frame, or any number of things that are giving other people heart attacks, and I'm like; "If I feel unsafe, I don't do it. But safety laws are also for the lowest common denominator. 50 year old, overweight white men with bad backs and knees." Just because Gary can't even imagine balancing on one foot with another hooked over a pipe and an elbow braced to the wall, doesn't mean I can't zip up like a squirrel and get it done.

And yah, there're been a few "I've wildly misjudged this" moments.

I may have been in a Genie lift working by myself once, and when asked "why is this taking so long" I pointed out I needed to come in, climb out, move the lift, go back up, repeat. Every five feet. They jokingly teased about an old worker there who would just grab the (wall anchored) pipes, brace his gut on the railing, and pull the lift around, while elevated. And then left.

About ten minutes later, already frustrated at the tediousness of it all, I thought to myself; "Hell. If Ronnie could do it..." So I gripped the pipe, braced, and tugged. The bucket shifted forward smoothly. I'm about 18 feet up, and expected more wobble or resistance, but it was really quiet easy. Surprised, and pleased, I pulled forward a couple more feet then went to let go of the pipe.

And that's when I felt the bucket sway.

Disclaimer: The outriggers may have not been in because FFS it was already taking too long. Always operate elevation devices with all required safety features in place.

So my hands, instead of relaxing, death gripped the pipe as I realized what was happening below me. I wasn't pulling the base of the lift along as I'd believed. I was pulling the bucket, and tipping the lift over. I ccaaareeefully retraced my path until I heard the "thunk" of the rear wheels hitting the floor again, descended, got out of the bucket, and spent about five minutes in a chair contemplating poor life choices.

TL:DR = Use your outriggers. But also acknowledge some people are just comfortable in possibly risky situations.

some of you never watched your life flash before your eyes while standing one rung higher than recommended on a ladder to hang lights and it shows

On the topic of precarious ladders:

So writing about working at heights hijinks and life-panicing moments got me thinking about an old member of my first local. This guy had been installing wiring for the Big Bang, I garuntee. We were talking one day about ladder adventures. Both being short, small, and overconfident, we had plenty of moments to swap, but his took the cake.

He was on a North American tour of an Opera, back in his day, and they were down in the States, I want to say California but I can't recall precisely.

So this venue they're at, they're doing the load in, and it has this odd grating installed over the last few feet of the stage that allows the actors to walk right above the orchestra, a sort of grid covered pit.

The touring rig has a lighting pipe that needs to be hung right out over the stage edge, so motor lines are dropped in, everything is built and hooked up, and up it goes. But then, the local crew explains to Ronnie, because of the unique floor covering the pit, it wasn't load bearing enough for a scissor lift to be run across it. "But how do we focus those lights?" Ronnie asked, confused.

So that's when the house crew went out into the house, up to the back of the third balcony, and pulled out three segments of an extension ladder, 20 feet each. A quick chat determined that the apron pipe was about 40 feet above the deck, so two chunks of the ladder were passed over the edge of the third balcony to the second; over the second to the main floor, carried out to the edge of the stage, and linked together.

"Now what," Ronnie asks, probably well caught on, but just making sure. The local guys grin, and walk the ladder upright. Then four of them get around the base. "Up you go."

40 feet, straight vertical, no safety, nowhere to anchor to, no wall around, held in place by four crew hugging the bottom.

Up zips Ronnie, straddling the top rung and hooking his feet into lower bars, pulls out his wrench, and gets the first light focused.

"Okay, now, hang on," the guys at the base holler, and proceed to waddle-walk the base of the ladder to get Ronnie to the next fixture.

One foot, pivot-twist - rock onto other foot, pivot twist. Stop, work, repeat.

The whole width of the apron.

I can still see the grin on Ronnie's face retelling it, I bet he was having the time of his life.

And then, the story goes, he was so comfortable up there, and the ground team so competent, they got the pipe done in record time, but halfway along, tragedy struck upstage.

If you've never heard a motor bag dump a full length of chain after everything has been flown out, well, consider yourselves lucky. A collective groan went up from the carpentry team as a bag spilled, the only way to clean it up being bring the set in again.

"Hold up," says Ronnie, "maybe we can help." And his base team waddle-walked his ladder across the stage, where he pulled up the chain and stuffed it back in the bag to the cheers of the other crews below. Lighting was the hero of the show for the rest of the production's stay there.

So... Every now and then, when my leg is cramping because my harness is biting off circulation in my thigh because I'm folded in half trying to adjust some fixture, and my retractable lanyard is trying to choke me to death, or at the very least pull my hair out, and some Technical Director is griping that I "shouldn't be doooiiiing thaaaaat..." Okay fine, then I guess you can't have the effect, because I can't set it up legally; I think back to Ronnie, seated on the top rung of a forty foot ladder, being waddled across a stage, and I wonder if all this safety has dumbed down our skills.

And I wish like hell I could try that.

Theatre Tips and Tricks:

Doors!

More accurately, how to keep doors where you want them:

So you've got a set, and it has a Door. But. Your stage isn't level, or your flat isn't square, or there's a strong airflow current or any number of things. And the door just won't stay Shut/Open/Ajar/In Place.

Paint brushes!

As you can see in the photo above, paint brushes secured to the back of the bottom corner of a door will work like a movable wedge.

They're flexible enough to slide against the floor when an actor moves the door intentionally, but if secured properly, will provide resistance against whatever gravitational or structural forces might conspire to swing the door when unattended.

For example:

This door wants to swing towards me, which has pushed the brush back as it attempts to settle. The pressure of the bristle mass, however, are gripping against the riser and pinning the door in place.

You can increase or decrease the 'hold' by moving the brush up or down the door panel.

And it's virtually undetectable from the front.

Just a tiny blob in the bottom corner of the door.

Hope that helps!