When I was an intern at Williamstown Theatre Festival, I learned a ridiculous amount about theatre and acting. I was also fired for the first (and hopefully last) time in my life. It was from the actual intern part of the summer. It was from a side job that I picked up, screening plays for a competition.
We were paid something like $10 to read a play then rate it and fill out a form about why we felt the way we did, which was way too much effort for what we were being paid but a great learning experience. At least I thought it would be until I got my first play.
I liked it. It was a farce set in a dingy New York City apartment. There were mistaken identities, slamming doors, veiled nudity. Everything that Ray Cooney offers sans rich people and British accents.
I thought it was hilarious. There was even a bunk bed written into the script, and people kept falling off, trying to keep from being seen.
So, I gave the play a good rating and suggested it be moved on to the next level of consideration in the competition.
The next day, I was called into my boss’s office and told I had no taste in theatre and obviously lacked the sensibilities to take part in the competition vetting process.
I cried for a few minutes, realized that her snooty version of humor was something I did not want to be cursed with, and ate Jell-o while laughing in my head about the man wrapped in the bed sheet, being pushed off the top bunk like a human burrito.