Last Night's Search for a Needle in a Haystack

Or... Why having a ghost light in a theatre is so important.

A ghost light is a bare bulb left on in the theatre after all of the other lights have been turned out. Now I understand that there's some superstition surrounding its origin, but I believe that the ghost light's importance lies less in its historical origin and more in its most practical function. That of course being so that the poor person who turns off all of the lights can successfully get out of the theatre without busting their head open in the COMPLETE. PITCH. BLACKNESS. that is a dark stage.

As we're winding down to the home stretch of this latest production with which I'm involved, we've been putting in slightly longer nights... the other night, I think I left the dressing room with the rest of the production staff around 11:30 pm. Last night was no exception. We were tying up some loose ends production-wise. As we all gathered our things to leave, I offered to turn off the lights. When I went to the side of the stage to hit the off button that turns everything off, I noticed that the shade-less lamp that usually stays on 24/7 was not there. Whatever. I didn't care. It was late, I was itching to go to our usual Wednesday night spot, and I had to pee like a racehorse. I hit the button, grabbed my stuff, walked carefully back out onto the stage, down the stairs, up some stairs, and then out the side door. I shut the door behind myself that the stage manager had rigged to lock behind us so that he could leave a little early. I started rooting through my suitcase of a bag for my keys and heard no jingle jingle.

The world stopped for a second.

I dropped my scores on to the floor and stuck my head in my bag, searching with both hands now. Still no jingle jangle. I plopped myself on the floor, turned my bag upside down and opened all of the pockets.

No keys.

SHIIIIIIITAKE MUSHROOMS!!!! It was almost 11, we had no way of getting back into the theatre without calling public safety... which is something no one ever really actually WANTS to do... or even feels comfortable doing. Ugh. I walked up to my car to make sure that I hadn't locked them in there. Public safety came. We tore the theatre apart. Walked down every single aisle of seats, climbed down into the unopened orchestra pit, moved the piano to and fro. All to no avail. Assuming they weren't in the theatre, we then searched the dressing room. Nope. No keys. Then we tried the rehearsal room that I used briefly earlier in the evening. Still nope. 5 friends and 3 public safety officers later, and I'm starting to get particularly nervous. I keep a spare key hidden in my car for emergencies, but now that I have no roommates, I had no way of getting into my house without breaking in.

And then... just when I had started to give up hope, my tall, dark, handsome, not-your-cousin, friend Vinnie emerged from the wings, keys in hand. How did they get there, you might ask? When kind, industrious little me decided to turn off the lights, I dropped all of my stuff on the prop table. In complete darkness, I had forgotten that my keys were in my hand separate from my purse and score. So there they lay, lonely and waiting in the dark for me to stop being the spaz that I am.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why it is so important to always have a ghost light in the theatre: so that you don't lose your keys in the middle of the night.