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R3 Spoiler: Damage Done

Well, and we open in less than a week. The show keeps getting better, at the very least in the sense that it gets more smooth and professional. The scene changes are still a trifle messy and slow, and there are the moments of Where is my prop? Where’s my fucking prop!!!! but that has to happen this week if it isn’t going to happen in front of an audience. None of that is any worse than it has been in any other show, and much of it is much better.

Anyway, do y’all remember the earlier R3 Spoiler note? In my final scene, now, I’m tearing up my precious, precious notebook. I didn’t mention it before, but the notebook is an Accopress Report Cover, not a three-ring. This means that the front and back covers are easy to separate, each from the other, being held together by presumably-patented aluminum prong dealie. On the other hand, the pressboard covers do show the wear and tear. Luckily, I happen to own two nearly-identical black Accopress Report Covers (although I believe one of them is actually Wilson-Jones), so I figured that I would carry the pristine-looking one through four acts, and swap out for the increasingly war-weary one for the last scene, which, you know, makes the scene even better, showing that I have been dragged halfway across England to my doom. Great, right?

Only, of course, there are limits to the abuse a little folder like that can take, and I noticed after one of the rehearsals this week that the holes were tearing through, or actually that two of the four of them had already torn, and that the remaining two were just barely hanging on. So. What do I need? I need reinforcements! Those little circles that people used to use so that their papers wouldn’t fall out of their three-ring binders. Only, you know, I really only needed four of them. Well, call it eight—may as well protect both binders, just to be safe. And I really didn’t want to purchase a package of two hundred and fifty little ring reinforcements when I only needed ten. Not that there was a lot of money at stake—what would a package cost, a buck?—but that’s the kind of thing I hate.

So, I ask at work whether we have any, and whether it would be OK if I took a few for my own personal use. Our office manager said that she didn’t think she had seen any for years and years and years, but I was welcome to go through the supply cabinet and take any that I found. So I hunted around in there (our supply cabinet is not well-organized, nor does it usually need to be, so there was a good deal of digging through stacks of things and moving things that were on top of plain cardboard boxes and so on) and lo and behold, just as I was about to give up, I get to the bottom of a stack and there is a whole little package of paper reinforcements. Success! I show them to the office manager, who tells me that they are mine, now, and that she thinks they are probably thirty years old.

And, in fact, there is no more adhesive on them, but it isn’t that big a deal to swipe it with a glue stick before pressing it on. So that’s all right. And I carefully prepare my folder for the rehearsal on Sunday.

And then, in my frenzy of tearing, I rip the whole back cover of the binder in half.

Ah, well.

Tolerabimus quod tolerare debemus,
-Vardibidian.