Hovering backstage two minutes before curtain, I took a giant swig from a water bottle. Except it didn't land in my mouth, it landed on my shirt.
I panicked.
My character was a neurotic neat freak. How could I go onstage with a gi-normous stain on my shirt?
So I did what any professional would do. I used the "F" word. A lot. And then I began blowing on the wet spot. I grabbed one of the clamp lights and held it against the cloth, hoping the emanating heat would have some effect. I thought about spilling more on the shirt to make it a "look." Before I could try, the lights went to black for the top of the show...
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Actors are used to being the center of attention, and an unfortunate side effect is having multiple witnesses to unintentional, embarrassing incidents.
In my last show — during a crucial, quiet onstage moment in which I fought the urge to sneeze by employing that horrible-ugly-face-twitch-thing — it occurred to me that I have had my fair share. In fact, I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about a few such painfully humiliating episodes.
Quiet on the Set
A few years ago, I developed a stomach flu the day before a commercial shoot. Not about to give up this job, I decided to tough it out. The day of the shoot, however, I woke up sicker than I expected. But I kept it to myself. It would be my little secret.
There were a few roles to shoot beside mine, so throughout the day during the down time, I took the opportunity to use the restroom on multiple occasions. What I didn't realize is that my body mic was on. Yup, everyone wearing headsets heard... everything. Let's just say that my little secret was no longer mine.
Twin Peaks
Another secret impossible to keep has to do with 'twin peaks' episodes — and I ain't talking about the TV show. Why is it that nervous energy gets translated to the nipples?
I once went to an audition where I had to deliver a comedic monologue. Oh, they laughed alright — but not at my monologue. Of this I am sure.
I employed the arm-crossing gesture and tried to make it look like a character choice instead of a last-ditch effort to hide the stubborn puppies. But it was too late. Once they're up, they are UP. And there is nothing to be done to stop them. You acknowledge that everyone on the planet has them. But there is something morbidly fascinating about seeing a performer battle the 'elements' in front of a rapt audience.
I'm pretty sure the casting directors were more transfixed by my package than my delivery.
In the Blink of an Eye
Wearing contacts can be tremendously helpful, but not under stage lights, which tend to dry them out.
In college, I was in a play that required many moments of freezing in vignettes. So there I was, frozen, facing the audience, while the actors on the other side of the stage were doing their dialogue, when suddenly I felt my left contact lens dry up. Instead of doing me the favor of popping out and leaving me half-blind, the contact lens decided to go up into the top part of my eye, under the eyelid.
The only way to combat this unfortunate occurrence without using one's hand and without screaming bloody murder is to blink incessantly until it comes back down over the eyeball.
Thus, ever the pro, maintaining my freeze, I had one eye blinking like a tic-filled maniac until the lens went back into place, trying not to pull focus from the action onstage — which, of course, was moot. For the remainder of that run, I would try to freeze with my eyes closed, 'cause that's not weird or anything.
Moonrise, Sunset
Before there was "wardrobe malfunction," there was plain old "humiliating costume glitch."
As a teenager, I spent a summer at a performing arts camp where I performed as one of the "bottle dancers" in Fiddler on the Roof. I was thrilled to get the chance to be a true "actor" and dress like a man for that famous number. I wore a long black coat over black tights and a painted mustache.
What I didn't know about the coat was that in the back of mine, there was a large split on the area covering my bum. It is not a particularly funny number, but there were so many giggles from the crowd, I just assumed we were the most impressive teenage bottle dancers ever. (Which we totally were, by the way.)
But that was not the reason for the snickering: When we faced our backs to the audience on our knees, balancing the special bottles on our heads, the entire audience got to see my stark white Hanes Her Way high-rise underwear briefs through the black tights, beneath the split of my coat.
No one had told me that there was a gaping hole in the coat! No had told me to wear black underwear! No one had told me about Victoria's Secret! And why were we not given pants to wear in the first place? Isn't that like child pornography?
Needless to say, I learned a valuable lesson that day: Never go without matching undergarments to costumes. Oh, and no more granny panties till I am one.
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Back to the wet-top incident.
The lights went to black for the top of the show as I was uselessly fanning the stain with my hand. Oh well. I had no choice but to go on, start the show and ignore the fact that I had an enormous stain over my frontal nether regions.
At first, I did a few of the beloved arm-crossings, but then decided to let it go as I realized that this is what performing live is all about. The unanticipated. The unpredicted. The unexpected.
And then someone in the audience let one rip.
Hey at least it wasn't me.