As an IT professional, I value planning, testing, retesting and forecasting the unlikely. The trains run on time, ones and zeros don’t intermingle, maintenance is performed to exacting precision within clearly communicated service windows. Our best day at work is when no one knew we were there—because nothing broke. The profession rewards relentless perfectionism. Herculean efforts during times of crisis come with the territory.
However, I have a past. A dark past spoken of only in whispers and back alleys, with people known to be of a similar bent. I consorted with persons of a questionable type. Some wore black. Some had long hair. They walked the hallways with little pamphlets, muttering to themselves the same words over and over. They could be seen prancing around the hallways, talking in loud voices, waving their hands and conversing to themselves. They were rumored to have mastered the dark art of iambic pentameter.
They were drama nerds. And I was one of them.
I auditioned for parts, learned my lines and tried to not trip over the furniture. It was fun, exhilarating and scary on several occasions. You see, the nature of a theater production is rampant chaos terminated by only one thing: the curtain rises at eight.
To quote “Shakespeare in Love”:
Philip Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.
Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do?
Philip Henslowe: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.
Hugh Fennyman: How?
Philip Henslowe: I don’t know. It’s a mystery.
The creation born of chaos is an integral part of putting on a play. People don’t know their lines, costumes aren’t ready, lights don’t work… and it’s dress rehearsal. Panic ensues. Adrenaline rushes. Tempers flare. Romances are torn asunder. Apologies are issued. Pizza is ordered. Lovers are reunited.
The curtain rises at eight.
Panic-laced ad-libs lead to funny moments you repeat… or not. Sometimes stuff happens you’d rather never happened at all. You compartmentalize your life in odd ways.
- I was supposed to kiss a girl on the cheek and kissed her ear instead.
- I stepped out of rehearsal while another actor rehearsed kissing my girlfriend.
- In one production, another actor and I worked out a funny bit during performances, night after night. We never rehearsed it, never discussed it, it just… happened.
- The construction of one stage precluded curtains; we did costume changes from trunks, on stage, between scenes, with blue lights. In front of the audience. Often we left our flies down. An audience member was overheard, “Maybe that’s so the changes are faster.” [1] [2]
The curtain rises at eight.
What does this matter to my life in IT? My coworkers are often puzzled by my seeming calm at looming deadlines. We’re not ready! Why isn’t he panicking? People need to be called! T’s need to be crossed, I’s need to be dotted! Auuuugh! Meanwhile, I’m sitting there calmly, wondering what all the fuss is about. We’ve got days, people, days! Calls get made, T’s get crossed, I’s get dotted.
Purchases orders are put in, parts get delivered, patches get installed, windows get scheduled, pizza gets ordered.
Strangely enough, it all works out in the end.
It’s a mystery.
—————
- It was an accident.
- I have no fear of public speaking. Audiences have literally seen me in my drawers; what fear could I possibly have from talking through some PowerPoint slides?