I realize that this may sound like Baker Lee’s column in last month’s issue (FRONT of HOUSE, May 2014, page 60) but that is only because great minds think alike, and maybe it’s just that season. So…
Dear Client,
You called at 4:48 p.m. on a sunny day in our otherwise dismal city, and I had not quite joined the ranks of many others in slipping out of the office a few minutes early. I saw your number, but since you’re a first-time client, I hadn’t yet entered it in the “People I MUST Answer” list, and let it slide into voice mail so I could join my brethren. Your request, when I listened to it the next day, was bold. Could we move the rehearsal from tomorrow to ONE HOUR FROM RIGHT NOW?
Gosh.
Part of me, I have to admit, felt bad about not picking up when you and called and telling you “of course we can drop everything we’re doing and ignore the written plan that we put into effect just last week to take care of your sudden and unforeseen need.”
But another, larger, part of me wanted to howl at the moon and gnash my teeth and mock you in public.
Finally, leavening that impulse was the general exhaustion I felt. Saturday had featured a client who thought that because I had been the subcontractor (for several of her company’s events) over a period of several years, I must know her event forward and backward. She, of course, was brand new and wanted to rely on me to build the logistic schedules and advise her on weather contingencies as part of supplying the equipment. My favorite quote of hers from the week prior the event? “Why do you need a floor plan, again?” Oh, no reason. Just that the entire space has been redesigned from previous years and we’re now doing a totally different event flow. Might be nice to think through these things prior to audience arrival? Naaaah.
Striking Out
And when asked, very specifically, about post-show strike, she said, “Oh, we’re not doing anything until Monday.” I said that we’d take the immediate electronics out of the public-accessible tent on Saturday night but come back in Sunday for a general strike and she said, “Gosh, okay, if you want to,” as if such a thing as working on the traditional Christian day of rest were a novel concept. We considered our options and staffing and got a vast majority of our outdoor strike done on Saturday night. We, of course, arrived (thankfully early) on Sunday morning to find the tent company in full demolition. As it turns out “not doing anything” only included her and her immediate staff, not the paid peons who would magically make the majority of the work disappear.
We all know that the strike is the redheaded stepchild of our industry. On our best days, it can be difficult to remember that it all has to come out again. And the fact that a show that took four days to load in will need to come out in 45 minutes is often overlooked. Venues don’t inform clients that, yes, there actually is another client planning on moving in at 2 a.m. for their 7 a.m. breakfast meeting.
Elevator Jam
Clients never imagine that there is effort involved in dismantling the decoration, catering, production and sundries of their event. And even though everyone staggered their arrival, well, that one elevator is still the only way out of the damned building at 3:15 a.m., but now everyone needs it at once.
I’ve been in this business personally since about 1990 and I remember the mythic days when “show producers” would fly in to discuss the “run of show” with the local staff. I remember the face-to-face walk-throughs of the venue to produce contingency plans and how the out-of-town producer would often know as much or more about the venue as we local kids, hired for a season or moving between jobs.
I’ve watched the slow creep of the job so that anyone with a cell phone is assumed to be in total contact and commitment to “the show” and have an absolute understanding of everything that needs to happen and in what order without the bother of printing a script or even having ever seen a run of the show. Producers are almost unheard-of now, with clients expecting that they can breeze through a venue like they’re picking up pizza at Domino’s, uninvolved with the magic being created around them out of plastic and steel.
Stupid Season
For the flow of our business, this is my bitter and grouchy time of year. We’ve just finished well over 150 annual gala events and the last three months have been a 5 a.m. – 2 a.m. cluster@#$% of stupid.
Every year I run the numbers, and every year I realize I still can’t survive and pay the mortgage only working for the event producers I love. The Stupid are an inextricable part of the financial equation that supports the business I have built, and I feel low for having allowed it.
But I hear the same thing from practically everyone, from world-beating industry leaders to shoe-worn touring hacks to corporate shills to the hourly guys who make up the backbone of the industry. I have it better than some, have screwed it up worse than others. I look for solutions and dream of new projects that magically produce cash flow in unimaginable quantities.
And I keep answering the phone and saying “of course, we can be there RIGHT NOW.”
Sorry about the rant, but thanks for listening. I feel better now.
Author Clint Kaster operates Smart Tech Audio Visual, a Portland-based company offering technical event production for nonprofit and charitable organizations. He can be reached at [email protected].
