Neurotic Owl

flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread

Motherf*ing singers.

And actors, and dancers, and anyone I have to schedule fittings with, really.

And look, 98% of my current regulars are SPLENDID, so really, the 2% are ruining things for all of you.  Please to have a talk with them.

Dear performers,

I’m aware that many of you consider the costume shop that scary place ruled by crazy bitches who are always yelling at you (We don’t yell).  We are crazy, though, and you’re why.  Excuses that I understand when you can’t work with our fitting schedule:

1. I have to work.

2. I have to pick up my children from school.

3. I have the plague and don’t wish to infect you.

4. I’m pregnant, so you might want to wait closer to opening and get me at my full girth.  (Opening night, not vagina opening.  Oh god.)

Excuses I don’t give a fuck about:

1. I don’t have rehearsal that day so it’s not convenient for me to drive in.

2. I don’t want to wake up that early.

3. I don’t want to deal with traffic.

Bite me.  You get paid (a lot more than I do) for fittings, and you live in Houston, so dealing with traffic can’t possibly be new to you.  I know, you want that one time slot directly before your rehearsal, and you should have it, because you’re a precious flower and there certainly aren’t 79 other people who want that time slot.  It’s not like I try to save the very limited evening slots for people who work during the day or anything; nope, we just sit around eating bonbons and laughing about torturing you.

Phrases I never want to hear at a fitting:

1. I don’t feel pretty/This isn’t flattering.

Okay, I do actually want you to feel good in your costume, but that’s not always an option.  For instance, if you’re in a Holocaust opera, you probably don’t need to whine that your dress fits like a sack.  That’s sort of the point.  Suck it up.

2. I forgot to wear underwear.

For fuck’s sake.

3. I didn’t put enough money in the meter.

I told you how much time to put on the meter, and you decided to play meter roulette and assume I was lying so you could save a quarter.  Dickhead.

Seriously, y’all.  I will bend over backwards for the nice performers — I’ll save them fitting times, I’ll pull them nicer/comfier shoes, I’ll give them the best underwear.  Don’t be one of the dickheads.  Eventually, the people who hire you will hear about it.

Love,

That girl who’s called/emailed you three times in the last three days, but whose name you can’t recall.

P.S. – I almost forgot!  MEASUREMENTS are, as you might assume, an appointment during which we measure your body.  Ladies, for fuck’s sake, wear goddamn pants.  No one wants to reach under your skirt or watch you reach in there to take your inseam, and girth is just going to be stupid looking.  A FITTING is when we put clothes on your body.  When I call you for a fitting and you argue that no, you already came in two weeks ago, that’s ten minutes out of my life I’ll never see again.  When you call or turn up and say you’re here for a fitting instead of measurements, the random person who isn’t me who greets you gets confused and we spend ten minutes sorting out who you are and why you’re here and where you should be.  Words mean things.  Try using the right ones.

love,

the girl of whom there is only one and thus can’t always be standing by the shop door waiting to greet your ass.

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This entry was posted on September 15, 2014 by and tagged , , , .
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