An Appetite For The Theatre

I became homeless in London.  By no ones fault but  my own.  I was starving to get into the theater. In my homeless travels, of park benches and empty fruit stalls, I met a very peculiar, nice man.  He gave me a hot bath and all the tea I wanted. He introduced  me to a leading actress who could introduce me to the important people theatre . A man with connections.   His uncle, or great,  worked for the Twining Tea Company.  He had a  closet chock full of Twining tea. I didn’t realize at the time, he had a few tawdry things in that closest as well.  Put it this way, being spanked by someone with influence was not my cup of tea. 

  So.   I ran away.

May I have your name, ma'am?

The first job I got in L.A. was at an answering service. We're talking the mid-eighties and I would have thought such services were on the cutting edge of technology. Not where I worked.

It was owned and run by a German woman named Helga. She was in her late sixties. She wore a short blond wig, Frederic's Of Hollywood latex pedal pushers from orange to neon pink. Cork wedgies and painted nails. She was a pleasant enough person, but I wouldn't want to mess with her.

Four of us were employed. I usually worked the grave yard shift. There was a pecking order when it came to where us "operators" sat. I was the lowest on the totem pole. So late at night I was delegated to answering calls requesting a limo or attempting to describe pots and pans As Seen On TV. We were the 800 number. I had never seen the merchandise, except for the picture and brief information about the product on a laminated sheet of paper.

If your not familiar with the old telephone operating equipment, recall Lily Tomlin's Ernistine.

Someone would call, a light would flash, a plug was placed in the hole. The person on the other end might be calling to leave a message, pick up messages, or asked to be connected to another line we serviced. Plugs of different colors, which were inserted in the holes, were assigned different meanings. Red might be, don't answer. Yellow might be pick up call in two rings, and so forth. My experience with inserting the proper plugs sometimes ended in disaster.

There was a talent agent for young people. We'll call her Ira. No matter what instructions we were given, we were always wrong. "You picked up too late!" "Why did you pick up so soon? I can get to the phone fast enough. Don't you know I have one in my bathroom?"
Though we did respect privacy, there was a benefit to this antiquated system.
We could remain plugged in and listen to the ensuing conversation. I myself recall doing it once. With Ira. A girl was on the line with her. I would assume talking about an audition or such. Ira said, "So, little girl, you want to be a star?" Nasty. Well, we all knew she was nasty.
We had a few nasty clients. Usually the one hit wonder "stars." Mary Fran was one of them.
I talked with the most famous people through the limo service. They would call requesting one and we would dispatch this information to the limo company. I wonder if the stars knew how
country-ass backwards we were.

Rod Stewart called one night. He told me who he was and where he wanted to go. I said, "Certainly sir." He sounded none too pleased when he told me, "Don't call me sir!"

The most memorable moment was a call I got requesting a limo to such and such a place. I said, "Certainly ma'am , may I have you name?" "Michael Jackson." Well hell. He sounded like a woman to me! There was silence, then a rough sounding voice came on the line.

That was the most memorable moment of my job.

Then I moved on.

My Road

When I was a young writer it was therapy, when it was fun and came easy and I had not met my inner critic. It's much harder these days to sit down and put into words memories collected over the years. That inner critic has matured in to a formidable foe.



On my road I've walked, I've skipped, I've run, I've fallen, and like a child, too busy playing, been called home to dinner many times, by caring people.

I don't believe in the adage "I have no regrets." I do. But that is not what I want to write about. I want to share the odd and funny things that made my world go 'round.

So, stay tuned. If I can subdue that critic, I'll be writing often.