I have a job description. It’s very official. It says things like: Organize, coordinate, manage and direct various cultural programs and activities including the City performing arts program, Arts Commission, ordinance-funded art in public places program, community arts activities, citywide festivals and special events, community advisory committees, and department and community publications.
As fancy as that run-on sentence sounds, it doesn’t do a very good job of describing what I do. It isn’t like my job description isn’t accurate; I actually DO everything it lists – all five pages worth. It’s just that a formal job description can’t possibly capture the more colorful aspects of my day-to-day professional existence. In the spirit of accuracy, I’m considering suggesting a few updates and clarifications to my job description. As I think back over some of the more memorable moments in my job, I realize my job description didn’t give me fair warning of any of them.
Many years ago, I worked on a regional touring network for contemporary dance. As part of the project, I hired a dance company that featured “differently-abled” dancers, meaning some of them were wheelchair-bound. I arranged for them to conduct a workshop for a group of adults with severe head injuries. A well-meaning staff person with the county arts agency decided to write a press release about the workshop and pitch it to Seattle’s NPR station. I was thrilled to get a call from the station saying they were interested in the story. I couldn’t figure out why the reporter was giggling until she came right out and asked, “How in the world can people dance without their heads attached?” Apparently the press release had indicated the workshop was for people with severed-head injuries, rather than severe head injuries. Luckily, we got that all straightened out. The workshop turned out to be a great success. The majority of the participants had been exceedingly active prior to their injuries. As a matter of fact, many of them were injured while riding motorcycles or climbing mountains or engaging in equally active pursuits. They were the type of people who liked trying new things and taking risks, which explains why they were enjoying the dance class so much. There was one man in particular, who seemed very excited. He kept coming over and talking to me. Then he started winking at me. Finally, he leaned close to me and, with a huge grin, whispered into my ear, “You have GREAT legs.” Awkward silence . . . that was certainly not what I was expecting. He kept winking at me and I kept politely waving back. Hmmm, I didn’t recall anything in my job description about fending off advances from a head-injured womanizer, but there I was. Finally, when the workshop was over and everyone had gone home, I asked the group’s coordinator about my admirer. It turns out he had been a sought-after rock and roll drummer, touring with the likes of Michael Jackson, prior to being injured in a motorcycle accident. I drove home very, very carefully that night, thinking about how well the workshop had gone, the unexpected twist it had taken and how flattered I was that the drummer thought I had nice legs. I mean, I’m guessing he saw some pretty great groupie legs in his rock and roll touring days, right?
Some of my “other duties as assigned” are gross, like cleaning up trash after busy festivals. I’m positive my job description doesn’t say anything about picking up piles of discarded spaghetti with my bare hands, and yet, I’ve done exactly that on more than one occasion. I’ve also been trapped in a poorly ventilated dressing room, cleaning up after an exceptionally sweaty and stinky troupe of acrobats. Is stomaching body odor so strong it could practically be seen hanging in the air detailed in my job description? No, it is not. How about figuring out what to do with a pile of sweat-soaked towels? Nope, that isn’t in there either.
On another occasion, a blues singer flew into town to play as part of our summer concert series. Apparently he didn’t pack enough underwear because his first request upon arriving was to be driven to K-mart to purchase more. Luckily I had an intern that summer. Guess who got that job? And no, our intern job description doesn’t specify that they may be expected to assist musicians in purchasing undergarments. That goes under – you guessed it – “other duties as assigned.”
My job description doesn’t say anything about listening to ludicrous complaints either, which really isn’t right seeing as I do it regularly. For a number of years, I have presented shows from the “Late Nite Catechism” series. These are interactive and humorous one-woman shows in which an actress plays a nun and the audience members are her parochial school class. One year, an angry caller berated me for twenty minutes, claiming the show was offensive to Catholics. Her “proof,” seeing as she hadn’t attended the show herself, was the photograph on the marketing materials. “It was CLEARLY,” she said, “a man dressed in nun’s clothing.” I finally got her to stop complaining when I pointed out that the person in the photograph was, in fact, an actress, who would likely be offended to be mistaken for a man in nun-drag. Just this year, I presented another show from the series and found myself responding to emails from a man who was convinced the show favored and promoted the Catholic faith above others. And here I thought it was just show business.
Not only does my job description conveniently leave out information about being verbally attacked, it also says nothing of enduring physical assaults. Once, a sweet looking little old lady threatened to hit me with a golf club if I didn’t move a TV news van that was blocking her view of festival activities. During the intermission of a performance of 1920’s music and dance, an elderly woman grabbed the collar of my shirt, pushed me against a wall and, shaking her bony finger in my face, expressed her extreme anger that the seams on the backs of the dancers’ stockings were not perfectly straight.
My job description does state that I should be skilled in “using interpersonal skills effectively in a tactful, patient and courteous manner.” Who would have guessed that was a euphemism for standing in the middle of a park, brokering a peace deal between a dogmatic and very loud Evangelical Christian demonstrator and an irritated and even louder bagpiper?
Although it isn’t specified in my job description (of course,) dealing with drunk and disorderly people has become old hat. Usually these scenes happen at crowded public festivals, but one of the all-time greats happened inside a theater, when an intoxicated man showed up for an Al Stewart concert. He managed to seat himself right next to our sponsors and spent the evening incessantly yelling “What’s goin’ on?!” to Al Stewart. Being a consummate professional, Mr. Stewart handled the onslaught with witty comments that eased the tension, but, unfortunately did nothing to change the man’s behavior. Al played “Year of the Cat,” the man yelled “What’s goin’ on?!” Al played “Time Passages,” the man yelled, “What’s goin’ on?!” You get the idea. Time and again, I crept down the aisle, crouched near the man’s seat and asked him to stop. At some point, I realized my attempts weren’t working – possibly because I’m a 5’6”, 120 pound woman and he was a 6’ tall, 200 pound man. I gave up and called security. The security man must have been more intimidating than me, because, upon seeing him, Mr. What’s Goin’ On decided to make a run for it. He was ultimately tackled, in the lobby, by the surprisingly quick, although portly, security man, who pinned him to the floor on his stomach with his hands behind his back, just like something out of an episode of “COPS!” Right then, the concert ended and the sold-out crowd streamed into the lobby. I smiled and acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “Thanks so much for coming tonight! What? Oh that? Yes, people are forcibly arrested in the lobby all the time. I’m so glad you enjoyed the show!”
Another all time favorite, you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me moment happened at an outdoor summer concert. In the middle of the show, we noticed a man in an electric wheelchair rolling down a steep grassy hill. He was picking up speed and heading straight for the ledge, beyond which is a 4-5 foot drop to a sandy beach. “What is he doing?” we gasped. No one knew. “He’s going to stop, isn’t he?” we queried. He did not. He pulled a full “Thelma and Louise,” careening over the ledge, his chair crashing in one direction, his body soaring in another, his fried chicken dinner flying through the air, seemingly in slow motion, and landing in the sand. We ran to the man’s aid. We called 911. He seemed fine and declined medical assistance. Some onlookers did their best to brush the sand off his chicken and return it to his tray. I guess they just wanted to be helpful and, like everyone else, had no idea what to do in such a bizarre situation.
I was reminded of all these “other duties as assigned” a couple of weeks ago when a classical pianist was in town to perform a concert and conduct outreach activities with youth. I knew it was going to be a busy week, but I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary, because apparently I never learn. I thought it would be just another week as a performing arts presenter. I had no idea I was going to be an Elite Ninja Bodyguard. That’s right, an Elite Ninja Bodyguard! I am positive my job description says nothing about being elite, a ninja or a bodyguard – I would have remembered those for sure.
In the interest of full disclosure, I didn’t actually engage in unorthodox acts of war like espionage, sabotage and assassination, so maybe I wasn’t technically a ninja, but I was elite, in that there was only one of me, and Alpin Hong, the pianist, created such frenzy amongst the kids that I did sort of act as his body guard. At one school, a group of students asked if I was his manager. It’s difficult to explain my job to adults much less a group of excited 12 year olds, so Alpin and I exchanged looks and wordlessly decided it was easier to make up something a little different. Alpin said I was his bodyguard. I threw in the elite ninja part because I thought it sounded cool, and was I ever right! I was subsequently mobbed for autographs by an unending stream of junior high boys. I was left perplexed, amused and very much wishing I could go back in time to tell my junior high self three simple words: Elite Ninja Bodyguard. Oh, to have been so popular with junior high boys when I was IN junior high.
As it turned out, my week as an Elite Ninja Bodyguard also included crawling around on my hands and knees on stage looking for the pianist’s contact lens, while he conducted a school assembly. The students enjoyed assisting Mr. Hong’s Elite Ninja Bodyguard by whispering “Hey, pssst . . . there it is.” I would crawl over to the area they were pointing at, only to find a sticky spot on the floor or a piece of candy wrapper. Finally, an eagle-eyed boy spotted the contact under the piano bench. I am certain this young man has a promising future as a Ninja Bodyguard. I also provided urgent care referral service for the visiting pianist after he ate at one of our fine local dining establishments, i.e. a dive burger joint. No, he didn’t get food poisoning as you might expect. He was injured by an enormous sliver from the high quality outdoor seating that stabbed through his jeans and into his butt. Apparently even Elite Ninja Bodyguards have “other duties as assigned.”
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