Monkey See, Monkey Do, Monkey Act

My new supervisor is 14-years-old and a simian

My role in Wizard of Oz is being close supervised. Photo by Jared Rice on Unsplash

Words cannot convey my lack of acting talent, so I recently auditioned for a flying monkey in The Wizard of Oz.

The part is mostly about flapping monkey wings while I run in a furry costume and copious make-up, but during the first two rehearsals, I discovered there is a lot more to being a flying monkey than mere acting.

In theatre, you spend most of your time waiting around. Even the stars, like the Lion and Dorothy, have to sit around twiddling their thumbs.

But I knew that going in.

As a monkey, I was prepared to squat like a baseball catcher.

I was ready to make monkey sounds.

Even though I’m low-carb and don’t eat fruit, I’d was willing to eat a banana on stage.

What I wasn’t prepared for was being supervised by a 14-year-old. We’ll call him “Nikko” because that’s his monkey name.

The first thing Nikko told me was:

“I’m your boss.”

Four Bosses Is Too Many

I recovered quickly because I used to teach high school and I’m well-acquainted with the hijinks of Freshmen.

“Nikko, I hear you, but I think you are my supervisor. The Witch is my boss.”

He nodded. I had drawn a boundary. Now he knew we had the same boss.

At rehearsal number two, I showed up to discover Althea, from my basketball club, sitting in the wings but I didn’t know her real identity.

After chatting, she told me she was there because her son was in the play!

“Which one is he?” I asked, because our geezer community theatre has several high school kids in Oz.

“Nikko, the head monkey.”

Cool! Knowing Nikko’s mom was a bonus, since I could quiz Althea for intel if he proved to be a cruel overlord and suss out his weaknesses. In 56 years, I’ve learned it’s all about knowing your adversary.

Call me paranoid, but I have suffered much due to redundant supervision, and I last night I realized I have three obvious bosses: Nikko, The Witch, and the Director.

I also had to admit there was a fourth overlord.

Experience has taught me to be wary of multiple bosses, but what the hell do I know?

I’m only flying monkey #3 and this isn’t a paid gig.

Darkness My Old Friend

I was riding my bike home after rehearsal, about 8:30 p.m. when I realized my light was on the fritz.

When the sun sets, our rural Arkansas neighborhood resembles a war zone after curfew. We have a few streetlights but you can’t see your hand in front of your face. I could hear dogs barking and hoped I wouldn’t be attacked by domestic or wild animals.

The cave-like visibility meant I had to dismount and walk the bike for long stretches.

The darkness gave me time to think.

Since I lack acting talent, can’t sing a note, and refuse to dance, I was putting a lot of faith into my costume and make-up.

The costume designer, Marge, is my fourth boss. Fortunately, Marge is a mensh, so I’m not worried.

I volunteered to help her with the costume, but since I can’t sew I’m useless.

As a flying monkey who can’t sew, I guess I deserve four bosses.

Supervision makes my job a lot easier. I follow Nikko around, pull the Scarecrow’s leg off, and take a swipe at the cowardly lion.

I’m one of those throwaway mobsters from The Sopranos.

I’ll put my energy and acting passion into mastering the one-two punch of a terrifying shriek while I take a swipe at the lion.

I’ve always wanted to be evil. Now’s my big break.