So the theatre that I worked at on the resort wasn’t at all like Dirty Dancing. Mostly because Patrick Swayze wasn’t there to be all sexy, but also because the actors and the servers were not allowed to socialize.
The servers were never allowed to come into cast housing, and fraternizing after hours was looked down upon in the hope you don’t get fired sort of way.
Of course, as with all rules, there were some really good reasons.
Like the time an actor had sex with an underage server.
Or the time the actors and the servers discovered that, with their powers combined, they had the keys to the kingdom.
See, the theatre folk had the keys to all the theatre buildings: the theatre itself, the rehearsal space, the prop shop, the set shop. You know, all the places where illicit fun can be had. The servers had the keys to the place where the karaoke equipment and beer kegs were kept. I think you can see the story starting to build. I was there for black Monday, the day that solidified the no fraternization rule. It was my first day at the theatre company. And I do mean that literally. The husband and I were still working on making up our bed when the company manager came to fetch us for a party.
It was a karaoke party in the rehearsal studio, complete with beer. We didn’t know that you weren’t supposed to be in the studio or that the karaoke and beer shouldn’t have been there.
We danced and had a great time, thinking we had found the best gig ever.
Until we had a company meeting the next day. The producer and owner of the property had found out about the shindig and was furious. The stage manager resigned, accepting full responsibility so no one else got in trouble, and the ruling came down. Actors and servers were not to be friends. It was like The Fox and The Hound. Our worlds would never meet again.
And low and behold, when the next actor handbook came out, the rule was there in black and white: no resort staff within the boundaries of actor housing. And I was there for the why.