Another op'nin'

Yesterday seemed like an opening night like many others. I picked up my dress from the dry cleaner, did my nails, and curled my hair. I went through my score and finished up making it pretty. I chatted on the phone with CameraMan and Mama and Papa Bossy, who all called to wish me a happy opening. I got to work extra early to finish up paperwork, distribute notes to the chorus, and make sure everything was ready and everyone was healthy.

Except it wasn't just like any other—it was my Met debut. A night I've been dreaming about in some form or another for almost my entire life had finally arrived. I've been attempting to downplay my awe and excitement at working there since I got the job, actually since before that when I went in for the interview. I've been trying to convince myself that it's just a job, just a company, just another line on the résumé, and in many ways that's true. But yesterday it hit me, really hit me: this is kind of a big deal.

The process of working on this production has been fascinating, exciting, and exasperating. Overall, I would characterize my experience as good, but I have been challenged in ways that I never pictured. Conversely, the aspects of the job that I expected to be difficult weren't. Isn't that always the way? If you want to hear more about it, I guess you'll just have to wait for my tell-all memoir. Suffice it say, I will not soon forget my first opening night at the Met.

Too cryptic for you? You can read more about it here and here and here and here, and see for yourself here.

I will share one story with you, however, of a run-in I had with a patron. At the tail end of intermission, I went out into the lobby to take pictures of the chandeliers, not realizing that it's against the rules to take pictures in the opera house (something you would never know if you did a search on flickr). When an usher politely told me to put my camera away, I immediately complied. As I was doing so, a crazy woman who was late getting back to her seat started yelling at me for taking pictures, telling me to "get out of the way," and repeatedly calling me a "stupid b*tch." She shoved past me (although, since we were the only 2 people besides ushers in the entire lobby, I was certainly not in her way), and yelled over her shoulder at me, "F**king out-of-towner!" The ushers and I all looked at each other in shock before I slipped back through the secret door leading to the Directors' booth.

I love you, New York, I really do, but I think it's just about time for this f**king out-of-towner to get out of town. I'll see you next year.