Last blog was about the time that I did a kids’ show featuring a box. The box was really a Tupperware covered in Duct Tape so it looked metal. The box was pivotal to the plot of the show because we needed to open the box to get the money to buy the peanut butter to save the day. I know, it’s deep.
Well, one day we were singing the song about opening the box, and when we got to the very end we shot the box down the slide, it broke open, sending money flying all over the stage as planned, and then the box fell into the pit. The box. The box that we needed for the rest of the show. It fell into the pit and onto the piano bench.
My husband, being the daring soul that he is, dove for the pit, lying on his stomach at the very edge of the stage to grab for the box. He touched it with his fingertips and knocked it to the ground.
By this point, I had stopped singing and was standing with my hands over my mouth, staring in horror as my husband dove further into the pit so only his feet were left on stage. One of our friends pointed, one laughed, one tried to sing, and thank God the last one standing dove for my husband’s ankles,which thank God he did, because the husband was still slipping further into the pit.
Finally he screamed “Got it!” over the one actor who was still bothering to try and sing, and the friend who had his ankles started dragging him back onstage so he was lying on his stomach, gasping with the damn box in hand just in time for the end of the number, which normally ended with an enthusiastic “Yeah!”, but on the day with the box in the pit, all the cast could muster was a “Ehhayyh!” except for the one good soul who had tried to hold onto the show all by himself.
I feel a little ashamed that I wasn’t the one who dove for my husband’s ankles. But I was too busy being horrified. And it’s good to know that my husband has a friend who will save him from an orchestra pit. I mean, that’s true friendship.