Monologue exercise: Brandi Nikolas

It has to be Maggie’s idea, because it never changes from year to year, and nobody apparently has the guts to tell her how awful it looks. It’s like this: you get to work at call time, some night in mid-November, and it’s already dark out, of course, and you see the trees. God, the trees.

There’s a stand of them in front of the theatre, I don’t know, young lindens, maybe? They look like every other deciduous tree by that time, stripped skeletal. What would make them creepier? Oh, I know! Those chaser lights, the kind that, I guess, you program the circuit to make them look like they’re running a loop. And they’re red, because of Christmas, or because of the U of U, or because the upholstery in the auditorium is red, just like every other theatre in the world. Or Maggie just likes red. Whatever. Normal people use all-white or all-teal or even rainbow lights, but whoever heard of all-red?

The effect is bleeding, bony hands, all of them reaching upward like “Hey, help me, I’ve been degloved!”

So then you go inside and, inevitably, on top of the player piano, that hideous centerpiece, the big fishbowl full of glass ball ornaments, which I never understood. Ornaments on trees? Yes. Ornaments in bowls? I don’t get it. Anyway, there’s a big length of faux evergreen garland wound around it, and it all sits on top of one of those burgundy table runners with the stupid gold tassel. And, excuse me, but it’s a player piano, for God’s sake, not a buffet table. As of 6:45 p.m. sharp, Walter has the damn thing blasting these really elaborate arrangements of Christmas carols, including a “Silent Night” that’ll make your ears bleed. Oh, there was one night years ago when Leonard and Elliott swapped out CD-ROMs on him, resulting in 45 minutes of Def Leppard songs. Walter did such a Walter thing: he just pretended it was deliberate. It was actually pretty funny.

More of the garland if you look up, on the balustrade that keeps Loge patrons from falling into the atrium. Also more red mini-lights, these ones on some goofy twinkle setting. They fight with the crystal chandeliers. It’s like they’re chastising you for glancing upward, for looking for mistletoe.

Of which there is none, thank God. I guess that’s probably a legal thing now, with all the harassment suits and things, but you couldn’t prove it by people’s behavior any time of year – I mean, certainly not Maggie’s in the early days, which she still thinks is a secret! Yeah, and apparently the kids on staff now are no different. I’m not in the loop like I used to be about which fingers are in which pies, mind you. Sometimes, though, I have to wonder what they see in each other.

Tell you one thing, though, that Toby Carnahan...Hoo. Ahem.

Anyway. Wreaths in the dumbest of all places: right next to all the signage. “Coat Check,” cranberry wreath. “Authorized personnel only,” pinecone wreath. “Hearing assistance devices available for checkout,” hideous frosted bird’s-nest-looking thing. All handmade by the theatre guild, of course.

By the time we’re back for opening night of the January show, it’s gone. Everything is bare, just like everywhere else. No more blood in the hands out front. Funny thing how often the smirks have drained off the young faces, too.