I’m a playwright and translator. A devout memeber of the Dramatists Guild. My plays have been produced across the country and in a couple places overseas.
I applied to a devleopment opportunity in New York City. Never been there before. Often I am outside the US and when I’m in the US, it’s not in New York City. It’s a lot closer to Salt Lake City. My play is about Mormon lesbians taking down Trump. It is the universal story.
So I applied to the opportunity via Submittable and I got a response:
A couple of things: a) I’m not a subway ride away from this theatre and b) My name has never been, is not, nor will never be “Leigh.”
Oh, yeah, my play is called The Great Porn Caper. And it is awesome. You should probably know by now my name is Bryan. I’m the guy running this blog. Or maybe it runs me.
Oh STFU. You meant “Leigh” – and I should explain that yes, this is indeed a self-production residency, but they’re supposed to provide the place, the tools, and the know-how (they call it a mentorship).
I really wanted to say I was located in his garage. That would just be creepy. But I told him the truth.
Thanks for explaining this to me. Because I’m a child and don’t understand things. Talking down to people is so sexy!
I totally put the name and theatre up there, but then I wussed out. Meh. I’m going to use carbs to deal with my negative emotions:
And no, I don’t have plans to go to NYC. Especially not for this über-tugs.
This isn’t the worst horror story I have. Hell, it ain’t even the most entertaining, but it is symbolic of the innate spankshaftedness of American theatre arrogance.
Do you have a theatre horror story??? Feel free to share it. You can remain anonymous.