You always hear jokes about rope obsessed people. Like the brothers arguing about needing rope in Boondock Saints. There’s even a book entitled A Rope in Case.
I was raised in scouting, and I know my way around a rope. I was almost kicked out of stage craft class in college for telling the professor he was teaching the bowline wrong. It was only the fact that he was wrong and that I got the entire class to tie a proper bowline in five minutes that saved my ass.
I know how to lash (tie strange structures out of rope and wood), tie up a burglar with eighteen inches of rope (if you can get them to hold still that long), and lots of other fun things.
But living life as a transient worker, you gain a new appreciation of rope.
When cast housing gives you and your husband two twin beds, you can tie the mattresses together to make a king size bed that won’t require weekly visits to the chiropractor.
When you realize you somehow gain a lots of schmackle in the run of a show, you can lash your belongings to the top of your car without fearing losing your panties on the side of the road.
You can show off backstage by showing your stage manager your mad knot tying skills.
And when you live in Alaska in a tiny little dorm room yet refuse to sacrifice your clothing to the abuse of the dryer, you can tie a clothes line in your room, a clothes line made with a slip knot to raise the rope as high as the weird little bar that is meant to be your closet can go.
So next time you want to make fun of the kid with the rope, just remember:
We can haul you up a mountain, tie you a litter to carry you down, and tie a rope between trees to build a tent to shield you from the elements while we wait for help.
Or we can hang a rope to dry our panties. Either way, still useful.