Washer Woman

Ah Sunday. Not really the day of rest it is intended to be so much as it is a day of domestic servitude to the theatre. Sunday is the one dark day. No performances. No rehearsals. Just myself, the dirty laundry, a few minor repairs and the oddball staff member catching up on some work of their own.

Laundry is supposed to be the job of the stage manager. Sounds strange doesn't it? I balked to when I was told this already strained position was responsible for the maintenance and cleanliness of the costumes. Not that I mind. It frees up an extraordinary amount of time on my end, especailly considering my shop is a block away from the theatre where the washer and dryer are.

But out of guilt I offered to do a thorough maintenance and laundry check every Sunday. I lie. I am more motivated because I lack faith in one particular stage manager to follow the instructions given to him to wash the clothes. The costume department had a minor joint heart attack last season when we discovered he had decided it was okay to toss all whites and darks together into a hot water cycle and then through everything, delicate and denim, into the dryer. No wonder that show always looked dingy and wrinkled. Never again. At least with a weekly check I can catch minor repairs before they become massive and properly attend to their cleaning.

It's therapeutic in a way. A slow, relaxed day. I have one goal and that is to do laundry. No other deadlines. No other projects. And between the 30 minutes cycles I do manage to get quite a bit down. After holes are patched. Most of the other work takes the form of catching up on paperwork. But it feels good to catch up. And to get away from the sewing machine for a while.