Theatre work experience: an old report comes to light

In clearing out old boxes recently, I was surprised to find a school report I’d written at the age of 17 after doing a year of work experience at a small local theatre. I only went in on Thursday afternoons, but I remember this as a very happy time when a lovely team of people welcomed a somewhat naïve student whose endless attempts to be helpful must have been something of a tribulation.

Theatre photo courtesy of alancleaver_2000, shared under a Creative Commons licence on Flickr

In my self-evaluation I frankly admit, “There have been low points, such as the many times I have efficiently answered the telephone only to forget an obvious word like ‘postcode’, floundering for 5 minutes describing ‘the thing with the letters and numbers in it’, or accidentally crashing the computer twice in as many weeks by doing exactly the same thing.”

“I felt truly stupid when I dialled the same phone number three times because I was so intrigued by the odd dialling tone. After about 5 minutes of saying ‘Hello … hello … is anyone there?’ I attempted to describe the bizarre electronic music and was informed I had been communicating with a fax machine. This,” I concluded portentously, “is a mistake I will not make again.” Still, come on – everybody’s done this once, right? Right?

Every lunchtime was a forum for discussion: the staff would all sit together and I’d soak up everything I considered worthy of comment, e. g. “Table dancers wanted in the small ads of The Stage are paid over £600 a night.”

My tasks included customising posters and displaying them in hard-to-open weatherproof display cases (“My technique is to punch them while wiggling a table knife down the sides”). I came up with children’s colouring competitions and set up creative in-house displays: “My use of bright colours and long paper beanstalks interested both small children and taller adults”.

Clearly I wasn’t immune to status anxiety, recording “I often make tea and coffee (not as a menial chore but to make visitors feel welcome).”

The strangest things were exciting novelties: in an appendix to my report, I include, carefully sealed into a plastic bag, an arson-damaged letter I received at the theatre, disintegrating into blackened flakes. I also recorded thrilling breaks to the usual routine: an evacuation! Buying an iron! Using the official franking machine in the Town Hall! Salvaging things from a closing down Santa’s Grotto!

I also noted, “It has been very useful hearing the way theatre professionals analyse contemporary productions, compared to what we are taught to notice in Theatre Studies.” I wonder how much this early grounding informs my reviewing style now?

Some things haven’t changed: “The pay is unanimously described as not good – apparently this is true throughout [the whole leisure company of which the theatre was a part], and explains why all their employees are so young. The only way to make progress and advance your career is to go and work somewhere else, where your experience will be rewarded with a higher position and hopefully higher wages.”

It’s fascinating that I conclude that I’d find full-time admin work boring, that design and publicity are things I’m definitely interested in, and that I would rather have a job like the Festival Coordinator “who does a lot of planning, liaising with other people, designing and research but at the end sees a large-scale result involving a whole community.” This pretty much describes what I do professionally these days.

I end my report with a page of thanks to everyone who supported me … including a gracious acknowledgement to a taciturn technical assistant for being “silently fanciable”.