Last year I took a class at the Newberry Library on writing one-act plays. I’ll let you know when I get around to finishing mine. I wrote the first few lines about twenty years ago, around the time I also thought of titles for two books I haven’t written yet. I’ve been busy.
My teacher for the class at Newberry was Doug Post, a local playwright. I went with a date to see a preview of his play, Forty-Two Stories, at the City Lit Theater. The theater is located on the second floor of a church, which is only a problem if the elevator isn’t working and you go with someone in need of a hip replacement, like I did. I would have turned around and gone home if it had been me, but she was a trouper.
The play is a dark comedy about life in a Lake Shore Drive high-rise condo building. I’ve lived in high-rises, but don’t really like them, so I consider my twelve-story building to be a mid-rise, whatever the fire department definition might say to the contrary – something about whether their ladders can reach all the floors.
Doug was sitting right behind us during the show, whispering back and forth with the director. I wanted to eavesdrop but felt compelled to pay more attention to the play itself since a friend of mine, coincidentally, had a major role in it.
A couple days after seeing the show, I happened to run into the head of maintenance in my building and mentioned the play to him. He proceeded to regale me with stories from his days working in high-rises. His stories didn’t have the edginess of Forty-Two Stories, but were just as unbelievable. Maybe I should write a play based on his experiences. I’ll put it in the queue.