After a night of pizza, partying, long good-buys and promises of keeping in touch, Heart-A-Rama 2014 ended. Or did it? For most, yes, but the next morning, several people were hard at it, dismantling the final trappings of a successful show. Tom, Terry, Kevin and Chris assembled scaffolding in order to undress the stage (horrors!), taking down the curtains, hearts and transporting the flats and larger props into storage. The transport alone took several trips, so next year...let's find a truck and LOTS of heavy lifters for this last bit of business.
Diane and Bev made final sweeps through dressing rooms, hallways and bathrooms (again, horrors!). They collected abandoned items and both tried to secretly catch a few minutes of nap time while the others weren't looking. That failed. Soon they found themselves assigned the task of delivering Tom Brokeheart's lectern to its storage closet in the basement. Mustering up what strength they could, the two wheeled the giant apparatus across the gym floor and into the lobby.
Another brief nap ensued, and again the duo was rudely awakened with a rather loud reminder to get their butts moving. Diane took charge. She led the way, steering the cadaverous piece of furniture, guiding it through springy-hinged doors, and expertly maneuvering herself and the equipment into position so as to be the one responsible for pressing the button to open the elevator door. In they went. Anticipating a leisurely ride to the basement, they began talking about the show, and brainstorming ideas for HAR 2015. Despite the lack of sleep, the conversation was lively and filled with snorts, guffaws and near trouser dampening giggles. Five minutes or more had passed before Bev said "Hey Diane, we're not moving. I think we're stuck."
Diane, agile minded woman that she is, said she had the phone number of the Community House attendant in her purse. He could be called; he could call Judy; Judy could call the fire department, and in no time, there would be a rescue. Nope. Purse was back in the gym and they were locked in the elevator. Again, Diane's mind, that precision instrument, went into problem solving mode. (So, why was Diane doing all the thinking you're probably asking. Well, I'm not sure, but Bev hates heights and small rooms, so according to Diane's version of the story, she was whimpering in a corner - a small corner of the elevator.) "There must be an emergency phone or button in here somewhere, don't you think," Diane asked?
"I suppose," replied Bev, who was not crying but rather laughing to the point of near breathlessness. "Why don't you just press the button to the basement? That could work." And it did.
Moral of the story - if you're going to be travelling in an elevator with Diane, take charge of the buttons immediately, no matter how much she protests.
