I<\/span> suffer from a condition called excessive eagerness disorder. Even my childhood ballet teacher would correct me in class with the note, \u201cStop trying so hard!\u201d Who knew that was possible in an art form where professionals physically torture themselves? I compensate for my lack of god-given ability with barrels of strained effort making me the model recipient of the participation badge. By the same token it\u2019s extremely easy to convince me to take part in some low-paying job, sketchy opportunity, or risky favor as long as it has that magical combination of sounding mildly entertaining and I really need the money. The muscles in my mouth needed to form the circular \u201cO\u201d in \u201cNO\u201d have atrophied due to lack of use, leaving only the easy and horizontal \u201cyes\u201d and \u201csure\u201d shapes.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m having one of those days where I\u2019m staring at my bank balance going, \u201cWhat happened?\u201d When my cell phone rings. It\u2019s a corporate comedy booker.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you do a gig for Price Waterhouse at the Ritz Carlton, Orlando Florida this weekend?\u201d she asks. \u201cIt\u2019s $800 all expenses paid.\u201d And I say, \u201cYes!\u201d And she says, \u201cGreat. I\u2019ll call you back.\u201d And the line goes dead.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m so happy I start having that optimistic hindsight talk with myself, \u201cSee? Things always work out. Why can\u2019t you just trust that?\u201d And I feel great.<\/p>\n

When a day passes and I haven\u2019t heard back from the booker, I start to fear that the call was bullshit or the gig fell through and things really don\u2019t work out. So I start calling her and finally on Thursday\u2014the day before I\u2019m supposed to leave\u2014she picks up her phone. The few times I\u2019ve dealt with this woman have been challenging; she seems to live in a world of disorganization. Every time I speak to her she\u2019s out of breath like she\u2019s being chased by the police, or a wrecking ball is flying through her office. Plus I can barely hear her over this terrifying squawking from what sounds like it\u2019s coming from killer parrots to whom she feeds only red meat.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

She is oblivious to the fact that I have no information and I\u2019m desperate. Putting my niceties aside I say, \u201cI know nothing about this gig. You haven\u2019t told me even how to get there and I don\u2019t work like this. Is it even tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she tells me. \u201cYour flight\u2019s at 11a.m. Come by the office this afternoon and I\u2019ll go through the details and give you the costume.\u201d<\/p>\n

The WHAT? Costume? Oh no no no! I do standup. I don\u2019t perform in costume. She must be confused. I don\u2019t dress up or do character stuff. But the line is dead again so I just make my way to her office.<\/p>\n

The office is exactly how it sounds\u2014utter chaos. Six different phones ringing, papers strewn everywhere and yes, two large evil parrots who mock the whirlwind of activity with loud obnoxious squawks. I get right to business.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat were you talking about with the costume? Because\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d she says and drags out a big green duffle bag.<\/p>\n

Inside is a wig, toga and garlands of grapes. A drop of sweat trickles down the back of my knee. The idea is that I\u2019ll be dressed as a gold marble Grecian statue\u2014by donning the wig, toga, and garlands of grapes\u2014while standing in the middle of a reception room, frozen like a statue as Price Waterhouse executives wander around with wine and cheese. Like the guys on the street who are completely spray-painted gold or dressed up like the Statue of Liberty. They come to life and wink or wave if you give them a quarter. Yeah. I hate those guys.<\/p>\n

\u201cEveryone once in while,\u201d she instructed. \u201cYou break pose and do a little physical comedy. Give them the thumbs up or look at your watch. Then go back to the pose. They\u2019ll go crazy for it!\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never done anything like it before.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s easy,\u201d she insists. \u201cYou\u2019ll be fine. Here\u2019s your plane ticket, the contact is Jeremy, and he will have the check for you after the gig.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod, shell-shocked. And then she shuffles me out because she has a meeting.<\/p>\n

I stand out on the street with the green dufflebag thinking, \u201cCan I do this for $800?\u201d I start thinking about my bank account. \u201cCan I train myself in to do this in 15 hours?\u201d The plane ticket had been purchased. \u201cWould I have to pay that back?\u201d I wonder. \u201cI can do this. I have to do this. It\u2019s too late to back out. I\u2019m doing this.\u201d The next morning I take a taxi to the airport and board a plane.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve never been to a Ritz and it\u2019s quite beautiful for the first five minutes until I realize what it really is. It\u2019s just another fa\u00e7ade. I can see the seams where the phony marble meets the pressed board columns. I go to my room and while trying to make a desperate call to my husband, my cell phone flies out of my hands and lands under the bed. I scurry to get it and find an entire emptied bag of barbecue potato chips living there. The artificiality of the Ritz Carlton\u2019s glamour is compounded by my presence in it. I add another layer of bullshit.<\/p>\n

The phone in my room rings. It\u2019s the event organizer who wants to go through some details with me. What details?\u00a0 I think stand still <\/em>pretty much covers it. But I meet Jeremy anyway; he\u2019s a very nice, very gay, event organizer from the Boston area. We get along immediately. We\u2019re joking around when he asks how long I\u2019ve been a moving statue. How do I say, \u201cListen there\u2019s been a big mistake, because\u2026 I\u2019ve actually never done this before!\u201d <\/em>But what comes out of my mouth is, \u201cAbout seven years.\u201d He nods and smiles like he can\u2019t believe he got such a veteran for so cheap.<\/p>\n

A couple hours later I walk into Meeting Room A, situate myself in front of a mirror and start mixing gold and black face paint together to cover my face, neck, arms, and ears in an effort to make my skin look like marble. It feels like I\u2019m suffocating myself with a layer of creamy peanut butter and I know every pore will be festering a teenager\u2019s red pimple when I remove it. I get into the body suit, which, as luck would have it, is slightly too small and therefore pulls really hard in the crotch area. I put on the wig and wrap the toga around me. With a full face of metallic makeup and costume, I don\u2019t even recognize myself. I have disappeared.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s time. Jeremy helps me onto my little platform in the middle of the Ritz Carlton\u2019s Conference Room B and my eyes connect with a jazz guitarist, hired to provide smooth ambient jazz for the corporate world. He has this sad yet mocking look on his face that says, \u201cSure I may have to play Kenny G covers, but at least I don\u2019t have to wear a ridiculous costume.\u201d\u00a0 I strike my pose\u2014and hold. This isn\u2019t too bad. I can do this. Whatever. This is easy. In a weird way, it\u2019s a relief to not have to talk.<\/p>\n

The first few people filter in and I shift into tapping on my watch with a scolding expression and then swoop back into my pose. One woman jumps and another lets out a scream and then they giggle like rich people do when they realize they\u2019ve been had. I had no idea people would freak out! What do they think? That I\u2019m actually made of marble?\u00a0 That\u2019s how tacky this Ritz Carlton is\u2014I actually look like I\u2019m part of the decor.<\/p>\n

But within minutes things change. My arms begin to actually shake and pain shoots from my shoulders to my fingers. I shift my pose to the other side, but with in seconds that side becomes excruciating. I think an hour must have passed, but when I glance towards the clock it\u2019s only been twelve minutes. It\u2019s like being stoned<\/em>.<\/p>\n

My body continues to disintegrate. I try to hold a pose while counting to thirty but my muscles are simply giving out so I just keep switching my position every ten seconds or so. \u201cHey, I\u2019m a moving<\/em> statue,\u201d I think.<\/p>\n

Nobody seems impressed or interested in me. I\u2019m sure they can\u2019t figure out why this person is wiggling and struggling in the middle of the room on a platform. One suited man stands in front of me, staring, as I try to do hold a pose for him but sweat falls down my brow and hits my lashes making me blink and black and gold paint ooze from my eyes like tears. I finally have to give up and switch to just standing straight, arms bent at my sides, hands on my hips, for a much needed rest. The man looks at me like I\u2019m a shitty magic trick, which I am, shakes his head and walks off. Luckily there is an open bar to keep people entertained.<\/p>\n

Okay, I coach myself, let\u2019s try again. I swoop my hands back to my first position and try to focus but my toga falls off exposing my ill-fitting leotard that has shifted so it\u2019s not perfectly covering my crouch anymore. I have tights on underneath, so it\u2019s not like anything is actually popping out, but it doesn\u2019t look\u2026 nice. The jazz guitarist, witnessing the spectacle, hits a wrong note and coughs to cover it. What do I do now? I feel a tap on my foot. It’s Jeremy. I can\u2019t tell if he\u2019s angry with me but he motions that I can step down. I am done. I glance at the clock to reveal that I was up there 35 minutes in all. A personal record.<\/p>\n

As soon as I am out of sight, I sprint to the nearest elevator and run to my room. The rush of relief is like ending a horrible destructive relationship that went on for two years too long.<\/p>\n

After one of the best hot showers of my life, I put on plain clothes and makeup and take the elevator back down to the event. I can freely transform into that-drunk-girl-at-the-bar as no one will recognize me. Three sips into my Sauvignon Blanc I am blotto. Jeremy spots me and invites me to hang out with the rest of the crew in the lounge. He doesn\u2019t mention anything about my shoddy performance and I\u2019ve stopped caring. You can\u2019t change what\u2019s over. It\u2019s a mime drowned in water under the bridge.<\/p>\n

The rest of the evening is a blur of drinking and dancing with abandon. No one should ever feel that free. I, for one, should always dance like someone\u2019s watching.<\/p>\n

Morning puts the evening in perfect balance. My body is beyond stiff, the wind hurts blowing on my face. Thanks to sunglasses and strong coffee, I\u2019m able to make it to the airport van only to bump into Jeremy. He hands me my check, which I\u2019d forgotten all about, and gives me a hug. \u201cI\u2019ve worked with a lot of moving statues but you\u2019re my favorite!\u201d he says. \u201cYou\u2019re so fun to hang out with! Can I get your business card?\u201d<\/p>\n

I can not extend this experience any longer. My mouth strains.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d I say and then shrug like a sad mime.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cIt\u2019s $800 all expenses paid.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2472","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-memoirs"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2472"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2676,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2472\/revisions\/2676"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}