I started working on a new show this week; AR Gurney’s Far East. And if I am not mistaken, tonight I will be given a paycheck. A paycheck! For acting! Weekly! This is a great feeling; it’s like at the end of the week, they’re so moved by my artistic prowess, they’d love to give me an enthusiastic handjob, but it wouldn’t quite be proper, so here’s a check. Fools! With that check, I can buy several handjobs!
Most of the time in “fringe” theater (read: community theater without the bored housewives), you get a “stipend” at the end of the run. A stipend can mean anywhere from a hundred bucks down to, uh, simple good will. (Rarely a handjob. Those happen during the cast parties, and are not considered taxable income.) And I do appreciate them; I understand that these producers are doing the best they can, and I’m certainly not doing this for the riches.
But a paycheck! I can’t get over it. When I get home tonight, I’m going to throw it on the bed and roll around on it, Scrooge McDuck-style. Then I’ll probably have to peel it off my back and iron it. That’s cool. Paycheck!
And what did I do to earn it? Of the four hours I spent at the theater last night, approximately fifteen minutes of my time was spent onstage “working” (read: acting, so technically, not working). In fact, I was literally taking my first steps onstage to say my very first line when the stage manager called out: “Okay, we’re done, folks, time to go home!” And everyone laughed at me, because I was standing there onstage with my metaphorical dick in my proverbial hands. Laugh away, suckers! I’m the one getting a paycheck for sitting around eating potato chips and taking luxurious smoke breaks!
It’s incredible to have a job where they pay you good money to sit around and not do anything. It’s even more incredible to have two of them. The grass is always greener, though. Somewhere, someone is getting a handjob.